The  Prophet  of 
Berkeley  Square 

By 

Robert  Hichens 

Author  of 

"The  Garden  of  Allah,"    "Flame.," 

- 

etc. 

GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS     :     :     NEW  YORK 

Copyright,  1901, 
BY  DODP,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  MRS.  MERILLIA  Is  CARRIED  TO  BED,  .        .         i 
II.  MALKIEL  THE  SECOND  Is  BETRAYED  BY 

THE  YOUNG  LIBRARIAN,       ...       22 

III.  THE  Two  PROPHETS  PARTAKE  OF  "CREAM- 

ING FOAM," 36 

IV.  THE    SECRET    WATERS    OF    THE    RIVER 

MOUSE, 48 

V.  MALKIEL    THE    SECOND    POISONS    Miss 

MINERVA, 64 

VI.  THE  OLD  ASTRONOMER  DISCOURSETH  OF 

THE  STARS, 72 

VII.  THE  DOUBLE  LIFE  OF  Miss  MINERVA,    .      92 
VIII.  THE  PROPHET  RECEIVES  His  DIRECTIONS 

FROM  MADAME, in 

IX.  THE   PROPHET   BEGINS   TO   CARRY    OUT 

His  DIRECTIONS, 131 

X.  THE  PROPHET  AND  MALKIEL  THE  SECOND 

CONVERSE  BY  TELEGRAM,     .        .        .     146 
XL  Miss    MINERVA    OPENS    HER    BOOK    OF  . 

REVELATION  IN  A  CAB,        .        .        -151 
XII.  THE  ELABORATE  MIND  OF  Miss  MINERVA,     167 
XIII.  THE  PROPHET  Is  INTERVIEWED  BY  Two 

KIDS, 176 


iv  Contents 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XIV.  THE  PROPHET  JOURNEYS  TO  THE  MOUSE,     192 
XV.  THE  PROPHET  CREATES  A  DIVERSION  AT 

His  OWN  EXPENSE,          .        .        .     205 
XVI.  THE    PROPHET    RETURNS    FROM    THE 
MOUSE  WITH  Two  OLD  AND  VALUED 

FRIENDS, 221 

XVII.  MALKIEL   THE    SECOND    Is    MISTAKEN 

FOR  A  RAT-CATCHER,  ....     237 

XVIII.  THE  SILLY  LIFE, 257 

XIX.  MRS.  MERILLIA  HEATS  THE  POKER,      .     296 
XX.  THE  PROPHET  RETIRES  FROM  BUSINESS,    309 


The 
Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

CHAPTER  I 

MRS.   MERILLIA   IS   CARRIED  TO  BED 

THE  great  telescope  of  the  Prophet  was  carefully 
adjusted  upon  its  lofty,  brass-bound  stand  in  the  bow 
window  of  Number  One  Thousand  Berkeley  Square. 
It  pointed  towards  the  remarkably  bright  stars  which 
twinkled  in  the  December  sky  over  frosty  London,  those 
guardian  stars  which  always  seemed  to  the  Prophet 
to  watch  with  peculiar  solicitude  over  the  most  respect- 
able neighbourhood  in  which  he  resided.  The  pole- 
star  had  its  eye  even  now  upon  the  mansion  of  an  adja- 
cent ex-premier,  the  belt  of  Orion  was  not  oblivious  of 
a  belted  earl's  cosy  red-brick  home  just  opposite,  and 
the  house  of  a  certain  famous  actor  and  actress  close  by 
had  been  taken  by  the  Great  Bear  under  its  special  pro- 
tection. 

The  Prophet's  butler,  Mr.  Ferdinand — that  bulky 
and  veracious  gentleman — threw  open  the  latticed  win- 
dows of  the  drawing-room  and  let  the  cold  air  rush 
blithely  in.  Then  he  made  up  the  fire  carefully,  placed 
a  copy  of  Mr.  Malkiel's  Almanac,  bound  in  dull  pink 
and  silver  brocade  by  Miss  Clorinda  Dolbrett  of  the 


2       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Cromwell  Road,  upon  a  small  tulip-wood  table  near  the 
telescope,  patted  a  sofa  cushion  affectionately  on  the 
head,  glanced  around  with  the  meditative  eye  of  the 
butler  born  not  made,  and  quitted  the  comfortable 
apartment  with  a  salaried,  but  soft,  footstep. 

It  was  a  pleasant  chamber,  this  drawing-room  of 
Number  One  Thousand.  It  spoke  respectfully  of  the 
generations  that  were  past  and  seemed  serenely  certain 
of  a  comfortable  future.  There  was  no  too  modern  un- 
easiness about  it,  no  trifling,  gim-crack  furniture  con- 
structed to  catch  the  eye  and  the  angles  of  any  one  ven- 
turing to  seek  repose  upon  it,  no  unmeaning  rubbish 
of  ornaments  or  hectic  flummery  of  second-rate  pic- 
tures. Above  the  high  oaken  mantel-piece  was  a  little 
pure  bust  in  marble  of  the  Prophet  when  a  small  boy. 
To  right  and  left  were  pretty  miniatures  in  golden 
frames  of  the  Prophet's  delightfully  numerous  grand- 
mothers. Here  might  be  seen  Mrs.  Prothero,  the  great 
ship-builder's  faithful  wife,  in  blue  brocade,  and  Lady 
Camptown,  who  reigned  at  Bath,  in  grey  tabinet  and 
diamond  buckles,  when  Miss  Jane  Austen  was  writing 
her  first  romance ;  Mrs.  Susan  Burlington,  who  knew 
Lord  Byron — a  remarkable  fact — and  Lady  Sophia 
Green,  who  knew  her  own  mind,  a  fact  still  more  remark- 
able. The  last-named  lady  wore  black  with  a  Roman 
nose,  and  the  combination  was  admirably  convincing. 
Here  might  also  be  observed  Mrs.  Stuefitt,  Mistress  of 
the  Mazurka,  and  the  Lady  Jane  Follington,  of  whom 
George  the  Second  had  spoken  openly  in  terms  of  ap- 
probation. She  affected  plum  colour  and  had  eyes  like 
sloes — the  fashionable  hue  in  the  neat-foot-and-pretty 
ankle  period.  The  flames  from  the  fire  twinkled 
brightly  over  this  battalion  of  deuced  fine  women,  who 


Mrs.  M erillia  is  Carried  to  Bed        3 

were  all,  without  one  exception,  the  grandmothers — 
in  various  degrees — of  the  Prophet.  When  speaking 
of  them,  in  the  highest  terms,  he  never  differentiated 
them  by  the  adjectives  great,  or  great-great.  They 
were  all  kind  and  condescending  enough  to  be  his 
grandmothers.  For  a  man  of  his  sensitive,  delicate  and 
grateful  disposition  this  was  enough.  He  thought 
them  all  quite  perfect,  and  took  them  all  under  the 
protection  of  his  soft  and  beaming  eyes. 

Of  Mrs.  Merillia,  the  live  grandmother  with  whom 
he  had  the  great  felicity  to  dwell  in  Berkeley  Square, 
he  seldom  said  anything  in  public  praise.  The  incense 
he  offered  at  her  shrine  rose,  most  sweetly  perfumed, 
from  his  daily  life.  The  hearth  of  this  agreeable  and 
grandmotherly  chamber  was  attractive  with  dogs,  the 
silver  cage  beside  it  with  green  love-birds.  Upon  the 
floor  was  a  heavy,  dull-blue  carpet  over  which — as  has 
been  intimated — even  a  butler  so  heavy  as  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand could  go  softly.  The  walls  were  dressed  with  a 
dull  blue  paper  that  looked  like  velvet. 

Here  and  there  upon  them  hung  a  picture :  a  land- 
scape of  George  Morland,  lustily  English,  a  Cotman,  a 
Cuyp — cows  in  twilight — a  Reynolds,  faded  but  ex- 
quisitely genteel.  A  lovely  little  harpsichord — meditat- 
ing on  Scarlatti — stood  in  one  angle,  a  harp,  tied  with 
most  delicate  ribands  of  ivory  satin  powdered  with 
pimpernels,  in  another.  Many  waxen  candles  shed  a 
tender  and  unostentatious  radiance  above  their  careful 
grease-catchers.  Upon  pretty  tables  lay  neat  books  by 
Fanny  Burney,  Beatrice  Harraden,  Mary  Wilkins,  and 
Max  Beerbohm,  also  the  poems  of  Lord  Byron  and 
of  Lord  de  Tabley.  Near  the  hearth  was  a  sofa  on 
which  an  emperor  might  have  laid  an  easy  head  that 


4       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

wor.e  a  crown,  and  before  every  low  and  seductive 
chair  was  set  a  low  and  seductive  footstool. 

A  grandmother's  clock  pronounced  the  hour  of  ten 
in  a  frail  and  elegant  voice  as  the  finely-carved  oak 
door  was  opened,  and  the  Prophet  seriously  entered 
this  peaceful  room,  carrying  a  copy  of  the  Meditations 
of  Marcus  Aurelius  in  his  hand. 

He  was  a  neatly-made  little  man  of  fashionable,  even 
of  modish,  cut,  spare,  smart  and  whimsical,  with  a 
clean-shaved,  small-featured  face,  large,  shining 
brown  eyes,  abundant  and  slightly-waving  brown  hair, 
that  could  only  be  parted,  with  the  sweetest  sorrow,  in 
the  centre  of  his  well-shaped,  almost  philosophical 
head,  and  movements  light  and  temperate  as  those  of 
a  meditative  squirrel.  Having  just  dined  he  was  natu- 
rally in  evening  dress,  with  a  butterfly  tie,  gleaming 
pumps,  and  a  buttonhole  of  violets.  He  shut  the  door 
gently,  glanced  at  his  nice-looking  grandmothers,  and, 
walking  forward  very  quietly  and  demurely,  applied 
his  eye  to  the  telescope,  lowering  himself  slightly  by  a 
Sandow  exercise,  which  he  had  practised  before  he  be- 
came a  prophet.  Having  remained  in  this  position  of 
astronomical  observation  for  some  minutes,  he  deviated 
into  the  upright,  closed  the  window,  and  tinkled  a 
small  silver  bell  that  stood  on  the  tulip-wood  table 
beside  Malkiel's  Almanac. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  appeared,  looking  respectfully  buoy- 
ant. 

"Has  Mr.  Malkiel  sent  any  reply  to  my  inquiry,  Mr. 
Ferdinand  ?"  asked  the  Prophet. 

"He  has  not,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Ferdinand,  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Did  the  boy  messenger  say  he  delivered  my  note?" 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to  Bed        5 

"He  said  so,  sir,  on  his  Bible  oath,  sir." 

"And  do  you  believe  him  ?" 

"Oh,  sir!"  responded  Mr.  Ferdinand,  in  a  shocked 
voice,  "surely  a  London  lad  would  not  be  found  to  tell 
a  lie!" 

"I  hope  not,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  Still — did  he  look  a 
nervous  sort  of  lad  ?" 

"He  was  a  trifle  pale,  sir,  about  the  gills — but  a  heart 
of  gold,  sir,  I  feel  sure.  He  wore  four  medals,  sir." 

"Four  medals!  Nevertheless,  he  may  have  been 
frightened  to  go  to  Mr.  Malkiel's  door.  That  will  do, 
Mr.  Ferdinand." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  was  about  to  bow  and  retire  when  the 
Prophet,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation,  added, — 

"Stay,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  Mrs.  Merillia  has  gone  to 
the  Gaiety  Theatre  to-night.  I  expect  her  back  at  half- 
past  eleven.  She  may  need  assistance  on  her  return." 

"Assistance,  sir!    Mrs.  Merillia,  sir!" 

Mr.  Ferdinand's  luminous  eyes  shone  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"She  may — I  say  she  may — have  to  be  carried  to 
bed.-" 

Mr.  Ferdinand's  jaw  dropped.  He  gave  at  the  knees 
and  was  obliged  to  cling  to  a  Chippendale  cabinet  for 
support. 

"Have  an  armchair  ready  in  the  hall  in  case  of  neces- 
sity and  tell  Gustavus  to  sit  up.  Mrs.  Merillia  must 
not  be  dropped.  You  understand.  That  will  do,  Mr. 
Ferdinand." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  endeavoured  to  bow,  and  ultimately 
succeeded  in  retiring.  When  his  tremulous  shoulders 
were  no  longer  visible,  the  Prophet  opened  Marcus 
Aurelius,  and,  seating  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  big 


6       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

couch  by  the  fire,  crossed  his  legs  one  over  the  other 
and  began  to  read  that  timid  Ancient's  consolatory,  but 
unconvincing,  remarks.  Occasionally  he  paused,  how- 
ever, murmured  doubtfully,  "Will  she  have  to  be  car- 
ried to  bed?"  shook  his  head  mournfully  and  then  re- 
sumed his  reading. 

While  he  thus  employs  his  time,  we  must  say  a  word 
or  two  about  him. 

Mr.  Hennessey  Vivian  was  now  a  man  of  thirty- 
eight,  of  excellent  fortune,  of  fine  connections,  and  of 
admirable  disposition.  He  had  become  an  orphan  as 
soon  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  do  so,  having  lost  his 
father — Captain  Vivian  of  Her  Majesty's  Tenth 
Lancers — some  months  before,  and  his  mother — who 
had  been  a  Merillia  of  Chipping  Sudbury — a  few  min- 
utes after  his  birth.  In  these  unfortunate  circum- 
stances, over  which  he,  poor  infant,  had  absolutely  no 
control — whatever  unkind  people  might  say! — he 
devolved  upon  his  mother's  mother,  the  handsome  and 
popular  Mrs.  Merillia,  who  assumed  his  charge  with 
the  rosy  alacrity  characteristic  of  her  in  all  her  under- 
takings. With  her  the  little  Hennessey  had  passed  his 
infantine  years,  blowing  happy  bubbles,  presiding  over 
the  voyages  of  his  own  private  Noah — from  the  Army 
and  Navy  Stores,  with  two  hundred  animals  of  both 
sexes! — eating  pap  prepared  by  Mrs.  Merillia's  own 
chef,  and  sleeping  in  a  cot  hung  with  sunny  silk  that 
might  have  curtained  Venus  or  have  shaken  about 
Aurora  as  she  rose  in  the  first  morning  of  the  world. 
From  her  he  had  acquired  the  alphabet  and  many  a 
ginger-nut  and  decorative  bonbon.  And  from  her, 
too,  he  had  set  forth,  with  tears,  in  his  new  Eton  jacket 
and  broad  white  collar,  to  go  to  Mr.  Chapman's  pre- 


Mrs.   Merillia  is   Carried  to   Bed        7 

paratory  school  for  little  boys  at  Slough.  Here  he 
remained  for  several  years,  acquiring  a  respect  for  the 
poet  Gray  and  a  love  of  Slough  peppermint  that  could 
only  cease  with  life.  Here  too  he  made  friends  with 
Robert  Green,  son  of  Lord  Churchmore,  who  was  after- 
wards to  be  a  certain  influence  in  his  life.  His  exist- 
ence at  Slough  was  happy.  Indeed,  so  great  was  his 
affection  for  the  place  that  his  removal  to  Eton  cost 
him  suffering  scarcely  less  acute  than  that  which  pres- 
ently attended  his  departure  from  Eton  to  Christ- 
church.  Over  his  sensations  on  leaving  Oxford  we 
prefer  to  draw  a  veil,  only  saying  that  his  last  outlook 
— as  an  undergraduate — over  her  immemorial  towers 
was  as  hazy  as  the  average  Cabinet  Minister's  outlook 
over  the  events  of  the  day  and  the  desires  of  the  com- 
munity. 

But  if  the  moisture  of  the  Prophet  did  him  credit  at 
that  painful  period  of  his  life,  it  must  be  allowed  that 
his  behaviour  on  being  formally  introduced  into  Lon- 
don Society  showed  no  puling  regret,  no  backward 
longings  after  echoing  colleges,  lost  dons  and  the  scouts 
that  are  no  more.  He  was  quite  at  his  ease,  and  dis- 
played none  of  the  high-pitched  contempt  of  Piccadilly 
that  is  often  so  amusingly  characteristic  of  the  young 
gentlemen  accustomed  to  "the  High." 

Mrs.  Merillia,  who  had  been  a  widow  ever  since  she 
could  remember,  possessed  the  lease  of  the  house  in 
Berkeley  Square  in  which  the  Prophet  was  now  sitting. 
It  was  an  excellent  mansion,  with  everything  comfort- 
able about  it,  a  duke  on  one  side,  a  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  on  the  other,  electric  light,  several  bath- 
rooms and  the  gramophone.  There  was  never  any 
question  of  the  Prophet  setting  up  house  by  himself. 


8       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

On  leaving  Oxford  he  joined  his  ample  fortune  to  Mrs. 
Merillia's  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  they  settled  down 
together  with  the  greatest  alacrity  and  hopefulness. 
Nor  were  their  pleasant  relations  once  disturbed  dur- 
ing the  fifteen  years  that  elapsed  before  the  Prophet 
applied  his  eye  to  the  telescope  in  the  bow  window  and 
gave  Mr.  Ferdinand  the  instructions  which  have  just 
been  recorded. 

These  fifteen  years  had  not  gone  by  without  leaving 
their  mark  upon  our  hero.  He  had  done  several  things 
during  their  passage.  For  instance,  he  had  written  a 
play,  very  nearly  proposed  to  the  third  daughter  of  a 
London  clergyman  and  twice  been  to  the  Derby.  Such 
events  had,  not  unnaturally,  had  their  effect  upon  the 
formation  of  his  character  and  even  upon  the  expres- 
sion of  his  intelligent  face.  The  writing  of  the  play — 
and,  perhaps,  its  refusal  by  all  the  actor-managers  of 
the  town — had  traced  a  tiny  line  at  each  corner  of  his 
mobile  mouth.  The  third  daughter  of  the  London 
clergyman — his  sentiment  for  her — had  taught  his 
hand  the  slightly  episcopal  gesture  which  was  so  ad- 
mired at  the  Lambeth  Palace  Garden  Party  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1892.  And  the  great  race  meeting  was  respon- 
sible for  the  rather  tight  trousers  and  the  gentleman- 
jockey  smile  which  he  was  wont  to  assume  when  he  set 
out  for  a  canter  in  the  Row.  From  all  this  it  will  be 
guessed  that  our  Prophet  was  exceedingly  amenable 
to  the  influences  that  throng  at  the  heels  of  the  human 
destiny.  Indeed,  he  was.  And  some  few  months  be- 
fore this  story  opens  it  came  about  that  he  encountered 
a  gentlewoman  who  was,  in  fact,  the  primary  cause  of 
this  story  being  true.  Who  was  this  gentleman?  you 
will  say.  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  the  great  astronomer,  Cor- 


Mrs.   Merillia  is   Carried  to   Bed        9 

respondent  of  the  Institute  of  France,  Member  of  the 
Royal  College  of  Science,  Demonstrator  of  Astronomi- 
cal Physics,  author  of  the  pamphlet,  "Star-Gazers," 
and  the  brochure,  "An  investigation  into  the  psychical 
condition  of  those  who  see  stars,"  C.B.F.R.S.  and  pop- 
ular member  of  the  Colley  Gibber  Club  in  Long  Acre. 

The  Prophet  was  introduced  to  Sir  Tiglath  at  the 
Colley  Gibber  Club,  and  though  Sir  Tiglath,  who  was 
of  a  freakish  disposition  and  much  addicted  to  his  joke, 
declined  to  speak  to  him,  on  the  ground  that  he  (Sir 
Tiglath)  had  lost  his  voice  and  was  unlikely  to  find  it 
in  conversation,  the  Prophet  was  greatly  impressed  by 
the  astronomer's  enormous  brick-red  face,  round  body, 
turned  legs,  eyes  like  marbles,  and  capacity  for  drink- 
ing port-wine — so  much  so,  in  fact  that,  on  leaving  the 
club,  he  hastened  to  buy  a  science  primer  on  astron- 
omy, and  devoted  himself  for  several  days  to  a  minute 
investigation  of  the  Milky  Way. 

As  there  is  a  fascination  of  the  earth^  so  is  there  a 
fascination  of  the  heavens.  Along  the  dim,  empurpled 
highways  that  lead  from  star  to  star,  from  meteorite  to 
comet,  the  imagination  travels  wakefully  by  night,  and 
the  heart  leaps  as  it  draws  near  to  the  silver  bosses  of 
the  moon.  Mrs.  Merillia  was  soon  obliged  to  permit 
the  intrusion  of  a  gigantic  telescope  into  her  pretty 
drawing-room,  and  found  herself  expected  to  converse 
at  the  dinner-table  on  the  eight  moons  of  Saturn,  the 
belts  of  Jupiter,  the  asteroids  of  Mars  and  the  phases  of 
Venus.  These  last  she  at  first  declined  to  discuss  with 
a  man,  even  though  he  were  her  grandson.  But  she 
was  won  over  by  the  Prophet's  innocent  persuasive- 
ness, and  drawn  on  until  she  spoke  almost  as  readily  of 
the  movements  of  the  stars  as  formerly  she  had  spoken 


of  the  movements  of  the  Court  from  Windsor  to 
London,  and  from  London  to  Balmoral.  In  truth, 
she  expected  that  Hennessey's  passion  for  the  comets 
would  cease  as  had  ceased  his  passion  for  the  clergy- 
man's daughter;  that  his  ardour  for  astronomy  would 
die  as  had  died  his  ardour  for  play-writing;  that  he 
would  give  up  going  to  Corona  Borealis  and  to  the 
Southern  Fish  as  he  had  given  up  going  to  the  Derby. 
Time  proved  her  wrong.  As  the  days  flew  Hennessey 
became  increasingly  impassioned.  He  was  more  often 
at  the  telescope  than  at  the  Bachelors',  and  seemed  on 
the  way  to  become  almost  as  gibbous  as  the  planet 
Mars.  Even  he  slightly  neglected  his  social  duties ; 
and  on  one  terrible  occasion  forgot  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  dine  at  Cambridge  House  because  he  was  as- 
sisting at  a  transit  of  Mercury. 

Now  all  this  began  to  weigh  upon  the  mind  of  Mrs. 
Merillia,  despite  the  amazing  cheerfulness  of  a  disposi- 
tion which  she  had  inherited  from  two  long  lines  of 
confirmed  optimists — her  ancestors  on  the  paternal  and 
maternal  sides.  She  did  not  know  how  to  brood,  but, 
if  she  had,  she  might  well  have  been  led  to  do  so.  And 
even  as  it  was  she  had  been  reduced  to  so  unusual  a 
condition  of  dejection  that,  a  week  before  the  evening 
we  are  describing,  she  had  been  obliged  to  order  a  box 
at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  she,  who,  like  all  optimists,  ha- 
bitually frequented  those  playhouses  where  she  could 
behold  gloomy  tragedies,  awful  melodramas,  or  those 
ironic  pieces  called  farces,  in  which  the  ultimate  mis- 
ery of  which  human  nature  is  capable  is  drawn  to  its 
farthest  point. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  new  dejection  of  hers,  Mrs. 
Merillia  was  now  seated  in  a  stage  box  at  the  '"Gaiety," 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to  Bed      1 1 

with  an  elderly  General  of  Life  Guards,  a  Mistress  of 
the  Robes,  and  the  grandfather  of  the  Central  Ameri- 
can Ambassador  at  the  Court  of  St.  James,  and  all  four 
of  them  were  smiling  at  a  neat  little  low  comedian,  who 
was  singing,  without  any  voice  and  with  the  utmost 
precision,  a  pathetic  romance  entitled,  "De  Coon  Wot 
Got  de  Chuck." 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  was  engaged  for  the  twen- 
tieth time  in  considering  whether  Mrs.  Merillia,  on 
her  return  from  this  festival,  would  have  to  be  carried 
to  bed  by  hired  menials. 

Why? 

This  brings  us  to  the  great  turning  point  in  our 
hero's  life,  to  the  point  when  first  he  began  to  respect 
the  strange  powers  stirring  within  him. 

Until  he  encountered  Sir  Tiglath  Butt  in  the  dining- 
room  of  the  Colley  Gibber  Club  Hennessey  had  been 
but  a  dilettante  fellow.  He  had  written  a  play,  but 
airily,  and  without  the  twenty  years  of  arduous  and 
persistent  study  declared  by  the  dramatic  critics  to  be 
absolutely  necessary  before  any  intelligent  man  can 
learn  how  to  get  a  bishop  on,  or  a  chambermaid  off,  the 
stage.  He  had  nearly  proposed  to  a  clergyman's 
daughter,  but  thoughtlessly,  and  without  any  previous 
examination  into  the  clericalism  of  rectory  females,  any 
first-hand  knowledge  of  mothers'  meetings,  devoid  of 
which  he  must  be  a  stout-hearted  gentleman  who  would 
rush  in  where  even  curates  often  fear  to  tread.  He  had 
been  to  the  Derby,  but  without  wearing  a  bottle-green 
veil  or  carrying  a  betting-book.  In  fact,  he  had  not 
taken  life  very  seriously,  or  fully  appreciated  the  sol- 
emn duties  it  brings  to  all  who  bear  its  yoke.  Only 
when  the  plump  red  hand  of  Sir  Tiglath — holding  a 


1 2       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

bumper  of  thirty-four  port — pointed  the  way  to  the 
heavens,  did  Hennessey  begin — through  his  telescope 
— to  see  the  great  possibilities  that  foot  it  about  the 
existence  of  even  the  meanest  man  who  eats,  drinks 
and  suffers.  For  through  his  telescope  he  saw  that  he 
might  be  a  prophet.  Malkiel  read  the  future  in  the 
stars.  Why  not  he? 

He  endeavoured  to  do  so.  He  sought  an  intimacy 
with  the  benefic  Jupiter,  and  found  it — perhaps  by  a 
secret  kow-towing  to  Sagittarius.  He  made  up  openly 
to  Canis  Major,  and  was  shortly  on  what  might  almost 
be  considered  terms  of  affection  with  Venus.  And  he 
was,  moreover,  presently  quite  fearless  in  the  presence 
of  Saturn,  quite  unabashed  beneath  the  glittering  eye 
of  Mercury.  Then,  as  the  neophyte  growing  bold  by 
familiarity  with  the  circle  of  the  great  ones,  he  ven- 
tured on  his  first  prophecy,  a  discreet  and  even  humble 
forecast  of  the  weather.  He  predicted  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow  for  a  certain  evening,  and  so  distrusted  his 
own  prediction  that  when  the  evening  came,  mild  and 
benign,  he  sallied  forth  to  the  Empire  Palace  of 
Varieties,  and  stayed  till  near  midnight,  laughing  at 
the  sallies  of  French  clowns,  and  applauding  the  frail 
antics  of  cockatoos  on  motor  bicycles.  When,  on  the 
stroke  of  twelve,  he  came  airily  forth  wrapped  in  the 
lightest  of  dust  coatSj  he  was  obliged  to  endure  the 
greatest  of  man's  amazements — the  knowledge  that 
there  was  a  well  of  truth  within  him.  Leicester  Square 
was  swathed  in  an  ivory  fleece,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
gain  Berkeley  Square  on  foot,  treading  gingerly  in 
pumps,  escorted  by  linkmen  with  flaring  golden 
torches,  and  preceded  by  tipsy  but  assiduous  ruffians 
armed  with  shovels,  who,  with  many  a  lusty  oath  and 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to  Bed      1 3 

horrid  imprecation,  cleared  a  thin  thread  of  path  be- 
tween the  towering  walls  of  snow  that  sparkled  faintly 
in  the  gaslight. 

This  experience  fired  him.  He  rose  up  early,  lay 
down  late,  and,  quite  with  her  assent,  cast  the  horoscope 
of  Mrs.  Merillia  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  He  cast,  we 
say,  her  horoscope  and,  from  a  certain  conjunction  of 
the  planets,  he  gathered,  to  his  horror,  that  upon  the 
fifteenth  day  of  the  month  of  January  she  would  suffer 
an  accident  while  on  an  evening  jaunt.  We  find  him 
now,  on  his  fifteenth  day  of  the  first  month,  aware  of 
his  revered  grandmother's  intrepid  expedition  to  the 
Gaiety  Theatre,  waiting  her  return  to  Berkeley  Square 
with  mingled  feelings  which  we  might  analyse  for 
pages,  but  which  we  prefer  baldly  to  state. 

He  longed  to  be  proved  indeed  a  prophet,  and  he 
longed  also  to  see  his  beloved  relative  return  from  her 
sheaf  of  pleasures  in  the  free  and  unconstrained  use 
of  all  her  graceful  limbs.  He  was,  therefore,  torn  by 
foes  in  a  mental  conflict,  and  was  in  no  case  to  sip  the 
philosophic  honey  of  Marcus  Aurelius  as  he  sat  be- 
tween' the  telescope  and  the  fire  in  the  comfortable 
drawing-room  awaiting  his  grandmother's  return. 

"Gustavus,"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand  in  the  servants'  hall 
to  the  flushed  footman  who  lay  upon  a  what-not,  sip- 
ping a  glass  of  ale  and  reading  a  new  and  unabridged 
farthing  edition  of  Carlyle's  French  Revolution,  "Gus- 
tavus, Mrs.  Merillia  has  been  and  gone  to  the  Gaiety 
Theatre  to-night.  We  expect  her  back  at  eleven-thirty 
sharp.  She  may  need  assistance  on  her  return,  Gus- 
tavus." 

The  footman  put  down  the  tumbler  which  he  was  in 
the  act  of  raising  to  his  pouted  lips. 


14       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Assistance,  Mr.  Ferdinand !"  he  ejaculated.  "Mrs. 
Merillia,  Mr.  Ferdinand!" 

"She  may — we  say  she  may — have  to  be  carried  to 
bed,  Gustavus." 

Gustavus's  jaw  dropped,  and  the  French  Revolution 
fluttered  in  his  startled  hands. 

"Good  lawks,  Mr.  Ferdinand!"  he  exclaimed  (not 
quoting  from  Carlyle). 

"Have  an  armchair  ready  in  the  hall,  Gustavus. 
Mrs.  Merillia  must  not  be  dropped.  You  understand? 
That  will  do,  Gustavus." 

And  Mr.  Ferdinand  passed  to  the  adjacent  supper- 
table,  to  join  the  upper  housemaid  in  a  discussion  of 
two  subjects  that  were  very  near  their  hearts,  a  round 
of  beef  and  a  tureen  of  pickled  cabbage,  while  Gusta- 
vus got  up  from  the  what-not  in  a  bemused  manner, 
and  proceeded  to  search  dreamily  for  an  armchair.  He 
came  upon  one  by  chance  in  the  dining-room,  and 
wheeled  it  out  into  the  hall  just  as  the  clocks  in  the 
house  sang  out  the  half-hour  after  eleven. 

The  Prophet  above  sprang  up  from  the  couch  by  the 
fire,  Mr.  Ferdinand  below  closed  his  discussion  with 
the  upper  housemaid,  and  the  former  rapidly  came 
down,  the  latter  up,  stairs  as  the  roll  of  wheels  broke 
through  the  silence  of  the  square. 

Gustavus,  in  an  attitude  of  bridled  curiosity,  was 
posed  beneath  a  polar  bear  that  held  an  electric  lamp. 
His  hand  was  laid  upon  the  back  of  the  armchair,  and 
his  round  hazel  eyes  were  turned  expectantly  towards 
the  hall  as  his  two  masters  joined  him. 

"Is  all  ready,  Mr.  Ferdinand?"  said  the  Prophet, 
anxiously. 

"All  is  ready,  sir,"  replied  the  butler. 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to   Bed      1 5 

"Wheel  the  chair  forward,  Gustavus,  if  you  please," 
said  the  Prophet.  "Mrs.  Merillia  must  not  be  dropped. 
Remember  that." 

"Not  be  dropped,  sir — no." 

The  chair  ran  forward  on  its  amicable  castors  as  a 
carriage  was  heard  to  stop  outside.  Mr.  Ferdinand 
flung  open  the  portal,  and  the  Prophet  glided  out  ex- 
citedly upon  the  step. 

"Well?"  he  cried,  "well?" 

A  footman,  in  a  long  drab  coat  with  red  facings,  was 
preparing  to  get  off  the  box  of  a  smart  brougham,  but 
before  he  could  reach  the  pavement,  a  charming  head, 
covered  with  a  lace  cap,  was  thrust  out  of  the  window, 
and  a  musical  and  almost  girlish  voice  cried, — 

"All  nonsense,  Hennessey,  all  rubbish!  Saturn 
don't  know  what  he's  talkin'  about.  Look !" 

The  carriage  door  was  vivaciously  opened  from  the 
inside  and  a  delightful  little  old  lady,  dressed  in  brown 
silk,  with  a  long,  cheerful  pointed  nose,  rosy  cheeks, 
and  chestnut  hair — that  almost  mightn't  have  been  a 
wig  in  certain  lights — prepared  to  leap  forth  without 
waiting  for  the  reverent  assistance  that  the  Prophet, 
flanked  by  Mr.  Ferdinand  and  Gustavus,  was  in  wait- 
ing to  afford. 

As  she  jumped,  she  began  to  cry,  "Not  much  wrong 
with  me,  is  there,  Hennessey?"  but  before  the  sentence 
was  completed  she  had  caught  her  neat  foot  in  her 
brown  silk  gown,  had  stumbled  from  the  step  of  the 
carriage  to  the  pavement,  had  twisted  her  pretty  ankle, 
had  reeled  and  almost  fallen,  had  been  caught  by  the 
Prophet  and  Mr.  Ferdinand,  borne  tenderly  into  the 
hall,  and  placed  in  the  armchair  which  the  terrified 
Gustavus,  with  almost  enraged  ardour,  drove  forward 


1 6       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

to  receive  her.  As  she  sank  down  in  it,  helpless,  Mrs. 
Merillia  exclaimed,  with  unabated  vivacity, — 

"It's  happened,  Hennessey,  it's  happened !  But  it 
was  my  own  doin'  and  yours.  You  shouldn't  have 
prophesied  at  your  age,  and  I  shouldn't  have  jumped 
at  mine." 

"Dearest  grannie!"  cried  the  Prophet,  on  his  knees 
beside  her,  "how  grieved,  how  shocked  I  am !  Is  it — 
is  it—" 

"Sprained,  Hennessey  ?" 

He  nodded.  Mechanically  Mr.  Ferdinand  nodded. 
Gustavus  let  his  powdered  head  drop,  too,  in  imitation 
of  his  superiors. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  the  drawin'-room." 

She  placed  her  pretty,  mittened  hands  upon  the  arms 
of  the  chair,  and  gave  a  little  wriggle,  trying  to  get  up. 
Then  she  cried  out  musically, — 

"No,  I  must  be  carried  up.    Mr.  Ferdinand !" 

"Ma'am !" 

"Is  Gustavus  to  be  trusted?" 

"Trusted,  ma'am !"  cried  Mr.  Ferdinand,  looking  at 
Gustavus,  who  had  assumed  an  expression  of  pale  and 
pathetic  dignity.  "Trusted — a  London  footman !  Oh, 
ma'am !" 

His  voice  failed.  He  choked  and  began  to  rummage 
in  the  pocket  of  his  black  tail  coat  for  his  perfumed 
handkerchief. 

"T'st !  t'st !  I  mean  his  arms,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia, 
patting  her  delicate  hands  quickly  on  the  chair.  "Can 
he  carry  me?" 

The  countenance  of  Mr.  Ferdinand  cleared,  while 
Gustavus  eagerly  extended  his  right  arm,  bent  it 


Mrs.   Merillia  is   Carried  to  Bed      17 

sharply,  and  allowed  his  magnificent  biceps  to  rise  up 
in  sudden  majesty.  Mrs.  Merillia  was  reassured. 

"Hoist  me  to  the  drawin'-room,  then,"  she  said. 
"Hennessey,  will  you  walk  behind  ?" 

The  procession  was  formed,  and  the  little  old  lady 
proceeded  by  a  succession  of  jerks  to  the  upper  floor, 
her  silk  gown  rustling  against  the  balusters,  and  her 
tiny  feet  dangling  loosely  in  mid-air,  while  her  long 
and  elegant  head  nodded  each  time  Mr.  Ferdinand  and 
Gustavus  pranced  carefully  sideways  to  a  higher  step. 
The  Prophet  followed  solicitously  behind,  with  hands 
outstretched  to  check  any  dangerous  recoil.  His  face 
was  very  grave,  but  not  entirely  unhappy. 

"Set  me  down  by  the  fire,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  when 
she  found  herself  being  smoothly  propelled  through 
the  atmosphere  of  the  drawing-room. 

The  menials  obeyed  with  breathless  assiduity. 

"And  now  bring  me  a  sandwich,  a  glass  of  toast  and 
water  and  a  fan,  if  you  please.  Yes,  put  the  footstool 
well  under  me." 

"Dearest  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet,  when  the  men 
had  retired,  "are  you  in  great  pain?" 

"No,  Hennessey.    Are  you?" 

Mrs.  Merillia's  green  eyes  twinkled. 

"I !" 

"Yes,  at  my  accident.  For  my  ankle  is  sprained,  I'm 
almost  sure,  and  I  shall  have  to  lie  up  presently  in  wet 
bandages.  Tell  me,  are  you  really  pained  that  I  have 
had  the  accident  you  prophesied?" 

She  glanced  from  her  grandson  to  the  telescope  that 
pointed  towards  the  stars  and  back  again. 

"I  am,  indeed,  sincerely  grieved,"  the  Prophet 
answered  with  genuine  emotion, 


1 8       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yes.  But  if  I'd  jumped  out  all  right,  and  was  sit- 
tin'  here  now  in  a  perfect  condition  of  health,  you'd 
have  been  sincerely  grieved,  too." 

"I  hope  not,  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet.  But  he 
looked  meditative. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  brought  the  toast  and  water,  the 
sandwich  and  the  fan.  When  he  had  trodden  across 
the  carpet  out  of  the  room  Mrs.  Merillia  continued, — 

"Hennessey,  you  see  where  this  prophetic  business 
is  leadin'  you.  It  has  made  you  charmed  at  my  acci- 
dent. Yes,  it  has." 

She  spoke  without  any  pathos,  humorously  indeed, 
in  a  bright  tone  full  of  common  sense.  And  she  nod- 
ded at  him  over  her  toast  and  water  with  a  chaffing, 
demure  smile.  But  the  Prophet  winced  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  thick  brown  hair. 

"No,  no,"  he  cried  quickly.  "That's  impossible.  It 
can't  be."  But  the  statements  sounded  like  perturbed 
questions. 

"Think !"  said  his  grandmother,  looking  down  at  her 
poor,  helpless  foot  as  it  lay  on  the  velvet  stool.  "If 
I  hadn't  had  an  accident  to-night,  you'd  have  been 
obliged  to  think  ill  of — of — which  of  them  was  it  that 
had  the  impertinence  to  talk  my  affairs  over  with  you  ?" 

"Mercury  and  Uranus,  Jupiter,  Saturn  and  Venus," 
said  the  Prophet  with  almost  terrible  gravity. 

"Exactly.  I  always  have  thought  ill  of  the  last,  but 
that's  nothin'  to  do  with  it.  Weigh  me  in  the  balance 
against  five  planets — are  they  all  planets? — and  how 
do  the  scales  go?  You  see,  Hennessey !" 

The  Prophet  looked  much  distressed.  He  saw  his 
beloved  grandmother  by  the  fire  and  the  bright  stars 
twinkling  through  the  frosty  window-panes.  He 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to  Bed      19 

thought  of  his  telescope,  of  Sir  Tiglath,  of  Mr.  Mal- 
kiel,  and  of  the  future,  and  the  velvety  blue  walls  of  the 
drawing-room  seemed  to  spin  round  him. 

"Prophecy,"  continued  Mrs.  Merillia,  fanning  her- 
self till  the  lace  lappets  of  her  priceless  cap  fluttered 
above  her  orderly  and  clasping  wig,  "is  dangerous,  for 
often  it  can  cause  its  own  fulfilment.  If  you  hadn't 
said  that  because  of  a  certain  conjunction  of  planets — 
or  whatever  it  was — in  my  horoscope,  I  should  have  an 
accident  to-night,  I  shouldn't  have  jumped  out  of  the 
brougham.  I  should  have  waited  for  Mr.  Ferdinand 
to  assist  me,  as  befits  a  gentlewoman." 

"But,  grannie,  I  assure  you  I  was  most  anxious  to 
save  you.  I  hoped  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  your  hor- 
oscope. I  did,  really.  I  was  so  nervous  that  I  sent  to 
Mr.  Malkiel  while  you  were  at  the  theatre  and  implored 
him  to  look  into  the  matter  as  an  expert." 

"Mr.  Malkiel !    Who  is  he  ?    Do  we  know  him  ?" 
"No.    But  we  know  his  marvellous  Almanac." 
'The  Almanac  person!    Why,  Malkiel  is  surely  a 
myth,  Hennessey,  a  number  of  people,  a  company,  a 
syndicate,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"So  I  thought,  grannie.  But  I  have  made  inquiries 
— through  a  detective  agency — and  I  have  discovered 
that  he  is  one  person ;  in  fact,  a  man,  just  like  you  and 
me." 

"Rather  an  odd  man  then !    Is  he  in  the  Red  Book  ?" 
"No.    He  is,  I  understand,  of  a  very  retiring  and  se- 
cretive disposition.    In  fact,  I  have  had  great  difficulty 
in  learning  anything  about  him.    But  at  length  I  have 
discovered  that  he  receives  and  answers  letters  at  an 
address  in  London." 
"Indeed.    Where  is  it?" 


2o       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"Jellybrand's  Library,  Eleven  Hundred  Z,  Shaftes- 
bury  Avenue.  I  sent  a  boy  messenger  there  to-day." 

"Did  you  receive  a  reply?" 

"No.  I  think  the  boy — although  Mr.  Ferdinand 
tells  me  he  wore  four  medals,  I  presume  for  courage — 
must  have  become  nervous  on  perceiving  Mr.  Malkiel's 
name  on  the  envelope,  have  thrown  the  note  down  a 
grating,  and  bolted  before  he  reached  the  place,  though 
he  said — on  his  Bible  oath,  I  understand  from  Mr.  Fer- 
dinand— he  delivered  the  note.  In  any  case  I  got  no 
answer.  How  are  you  feeling?" 

"Twisted,  but  prophetic.  I  foretell  that  my  ankle 
will  be  swelled  beyond  recognition  to-morrow.  Help 
me  to  bed,  Hennessey." 

The  Prophet  flew  to  his  dear  relative's  assistance, 
and  Mrs.  Merillia  endeavoured  to  rise  and  to  lean  upon 
his  anxious  arm.  After  a  struggle,  however,  in  which 
the  Prophet  took  part  and  two  chairs  were  overset,  she 
was  obliged  to  desist. 

"You  must  ring  the  bell,  Hennessey,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Ferdinand  and  Gustavus  must  carry  me  to  bed  in  the 
chair." 

The  Prophet  sprang  tragically  to  the  bell.  It  was 
answered.  The  procession  was  re-formed,  and  Mrs. 
Merillia  was  carried  to  bed,  still  smiling,  nodding  at 
each  stair  and  bearing  herself  with  admirable  courage. 

As  Mr.  Ferdinand  and  Gustavus  descended  to  the 
basement  after  the  completion  of  their  unusual  task, 
the  latter  said  solemnly, — 

"However  should  master  have  come  to  know  as  the 
missis  wouldn't  be  able  to  put  foot  to  floor  this  night, 
Mr.  Ferdinand?  However?" 

"I  cannot  answer  you,  Gustavus/'  Mr.  Ferdinand 


Mrs.   Merillia  is  Carried  to  Bed      21 

replied,  shaking  his  broad  and  globe-like  head,  round 
whose  bald  cupola  the  jet-black  hair  was  brushed  in 
two  half  moons  decorated  with  a  renowned  "butler's 
own  special  pomade." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  rejoined  Gustavus,  stretch- 
ing out  one  hand  for  pale  ale,  the  other  for  French 
Revolution,  "I  don't  like  it." 

"Why,  Gustavus?"  inquired  Mr.  Ferdinand,  prepar- 
ing to  resume  his  discussion  with  the  accommodating 
upper  housemaid.  "Why?" 

"Because  it  seems  strange  like,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  said 
Gustavus,  lifting  the  glass  to  his  lips,  the  French  Revo- 
lution to  his  eyes. 

"It  do  seem  strange,  Gustavus,"  answered  Mr.  Fer- 
dinand, leaving  out  the  "like"  in  a  cultivated  manner. 
"It  do." 

In  the  drawing-room  the  Prophet  stood,  with 
clenched  hands,  gazing  through  the  telescope  at  Mer- 
cury and  Uranus,  Jupiter,  Saturn  and  Venus,  while,  on 
the  second  floor,  Mrs.  Fancy  Quinglet,  Mrs.  Merillia's 
devoted,  but  occasionally  disconcerting,  maid,  swathed 
her- mistress's  ankle  in  bandages  previously  steeped  in 
cold  water  and  in  vinegar. 


CHAPTER  II 

MALKIEL    THE    SECOND    IS    BETRAYED    BY    THE    YOUNG 
LIBRARIAN 

MRS.  MERILLIA'S  accident  made  a  very  deep  impres- 
sion upon  the  Prophet's  mind.  He  thought  it  over 
carefully,  and  desired  to  discuss  it  in  all  its  bearings 
with  Mrs.  Fancy  Quinglet,  who  had  been  his  confi- 
dante for  full  thirty  years.  Mrs.  Fancy — who  had  not 
been  married — was  no  longer  a  pretty  girl.  Indeed  it 
was  possible  that  she  had  never,  even  in  her  heyday, 
been  otherwise  than  moderately  plain.  Now,  at  the 
age  of  fifty-one  and  a  half,  she  was  a  faithful  creature 
with  a  thin,  pendulous  nose,  a  pale,  hysteric  eye,  a  ten- 
dency to  cold  in  the  head  and  chilblains  in  the  autumn 
of  the  year,  and  a  somewhat  incoherent  and  occasion- 
ally frenzied  turn  of  mind.  Argument  could  never  at 
any  time  have  had  much  effect  upon  her  nature,  and  as 
she  grew  towards  maturity  its  power  over  her  most 
markedly  decreased.  This  fact  was  recognised  by 
everybody,  last  of  all  by  Mrs.  Merillia,  who  was  at 
length  fully  convinced  of  the  existence  of  certain 
depths  in  her  maid's  peculiar  character  by  the  follow- 
ing circumstance. 

Mrs.  Merillia  had  a  bandy-legged  dachshund  called 
Beau,  whose  name  was  for  many  years  often  affection- 
ately, and  quite  correctly,  pronounced  by  Fancy  Quing- 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        23 

let.  One  day,  however,  she  chanced  to  see  it  written 
upon  paper — B.  E.  A.  U. 

"Whatever  does  that  mean,  ma'am?"  she  asked  of 
Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Why,  Beau,  of  course,  Beau — the  dog.  What 
should  it  mean?" 

"Bow?"  cried  Fancy.    "Is  he  writ  so?" 

"Of  course,  silly  girl.  It  is  written  Beau,  and  you 
can  pronounce  it  as  you  would  pronounce  a  bow  of  rib- 
bon." 

Fancy  said  no  more,  though  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
she  was  much  shaken  by  this  circumstance.  But  she 
could  never  afterwards  be  induced  to  utter  her  fa- 
vourite's name.  She  was  physically  unable  to  speak 
the  word  so  strangely,  so  almost  impiously,  spelt.  This 
she  declared  with  tears.  Persuasion  and  argument 
were  unavailing.  Henceforth  Beau  was  always  called 
by  her  "the  dog,"  and  it  was  obvious  that,  had  she  been 
led  out  to  the  stake,  she  must  have  burned  rather  than 
save  herself  by  a  pronouncing  of  the  combination  of 
letters  by  which  she  had  been  so  long  deceived. 

Such  an  inflexible  mind  had  Mrs.  Fancy,  to  whom 
the  Prophet  now  applied  himself  with  gestures  almost 
Sinaic. 

She  was  dressed  in  mouse-coloured  grenadine,  and 
was  seated  in  a  small  chamber  opening  out  of  Mrs. 
Merillia's  bedroom,  engaged  in  what  she  called  "plain 
tatting." 

"Fancy,"  said  the  Prophet,  entering  and  closing  the 
door  carefully,  "you  know  me  well." 

"From  the  bottle,  sir,"  she  answered,  darting  the 
bone  implements  in  and  out. 

"Have  you  ever  thought — has  it  ever  occurred  to 
you-*" 


24       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  can't  say  it  has,  sir,"  Fancy  replied,  with  the 
weak  decision  peculiar  to  her. 

She  was  ever  prone  thus  to  answer  questions  before 
they  were  fully  asked,  or  could  be  properly  understood 
by  her,  and  from  such  premature  decisions  as  she 
hastened  to  give  she  could  never  afterwards  be  per- 
suaded to  retreat.  Knowing  this  the  Prophet  said 
rapidly, — 

"Fancy,  if  a  man  finds  out  that  he  is  a  prophet  what 
ought  he  to  do?" 

The  lady's-maid  rattled  her  bones. 

"Let  it  alone,  sir,"  she  answered.  "Let  it  alone, 
Master  Hennessey." 

"Well,  but  what  d'you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"What  I  say,  sir.  I  can't  speak  different,  nor  mean 
other." 

"But  can't  you  explain,  Fancy  ?" 

"Oh,  Master  Hennessey,  the  lives  that  have  been 
wrecked,  the  homes  that  have  been  broke  up  by  ex- 
plainings !" 

Her  eye  seemed  suddenly  lit  from  within  by  some 
fever  of  sad,  worldly  knowledge. 

"Well,  but—"  the  Prophet  began. 

"I  know  it,  Master  Hennessey,  and  I  can't  know 
other." 

She  sighed,  and  her  gaze  became  fixed  like  that  of  a 
typhoid  patient  in  a  dream. 

"Them  that  knows  other  let  them  declare  it,"  she 
ejaculated.  "I  say  again,  as  I  did  afore — the  homes 
that  have  been  broke  up  by  explainings !" 

She  tatted.  The  Prophet  bowed  before  her  decision 
and  left  the  apartment  feeling  rather  hungry.  Fancy 
Quinglet's  crumbs  were  not  always  crumbs  of  com- 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        25 

fort.  He  resolved  to  apply  again  to  Mr.  Malkiel,  and 
this  time  to  make  the  application  in  person.  But  before 
he  did  so  he  thought  it  right  to  tell  Mrs.  Merillia,  who 
was  still  steeped  in  bandages,  of  his  intention.  He 
therefore  went  straight  to  her  room  from  Fancy  Quing- 
let's.  Mrs.  Merillia  was  lying  upon  a  couch  reading 
a  Russian  novel.  A  cup  of  tea  stood  beside  her  upon 
a  table  near  a  bowl  of  red  and  yellow  tulips,  a  canary 
was  singing  in  its  cage  amid  a  shower  of  bird-seed, 
and  "the  dog"  lay  stretched  before  the  blazing  fire 
upon  a  milk-white  rug,  over  which  a  pale  ray  of  winter 
sunshine  fell.  As  the  Prophet  came  in  Mrs.  Merillia 
glanced  up. 

"Hennessey,"  she  said,  "you  are  growin'  to  look  like 
Lord  Brandling,  when  he  combined  the  Premiership 
with  the  Foreign  Office  and  we  had  that  dreadful 
complication  with  Iceland.  My  dear  boy,  you  are  cor- 
rugated with  thought  and  care.  What  is  the  matter? 
My  ankle  is  much  better.  You  need  not  be  anxious 
about  me.  Has  Venus  been  playing  you  another  jade's 
trick?" 

The  Prophet  sat  down  and  stroked  Beau's  sable  back 
with  his  forefinger. 

"I  have  scarcely  looked  at  Venus  since  you  were 
injured,  grannie,"  he  aswered.  "I  have  scarcely  dared 
to." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Since  the  days  of  Adonis  she 
has  always  had  a  dangerous  influence  on  young  men. 
If  you  want  to  look  at  anybody,  look  at  that  pretty, 
sensible  cousin  of  Robert  Green's." 

"Lady  Enid.  Yes,  she  is  sensible.  I  believe  she  is 
in  Hampshire  staying  with  the  Churchmores." 


26       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

He  looked  calmer  for  a  moment,  but  the  corrugated 
expression  quickly  returned. 

"Grannie,"  he  said,  "I  think  it  my  duty  to  make  an 
effort  to  see  Mr.  Malkiel." 

"The  Almanac  man.    What  do  you  want  with  him?" 

She  tapped  one  of  her  small,  mittened  hands  over 
the  other  and  slightly  twisted  her  long  and  pointed 
nose. 

"I  want  to  learn  his  views  on  this  strange  faculty  of 
prophecy.  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  among  all 
our  immense  acquaintance  we  don't  number  a  single 
prophet  ?" 

"One  can't  know  everybody,  Hennessey.  And  I  be- 
lieve that  prophets  always  spring  from  the  lower 
classes.  The  line  must  be  drawn  somewhere  even  in 
these  days." 

"Why  not  draw  it  at  millionaires  then?" 

"I  should  like  to.  Somethin'  will  have  to  be  done. 
If  the  nobodies  continue  to  go  everywhere  the  very 
few  somebodies  that  are  left  will  soon  go  nowhere." 

"Perhaps  they  do  go  nowhere.  Perhaps  that  is  why 
we  have  never  met  a  prophet." 

Mrs.  Merillia  looked  up  sharply,  with  her  wide, 
cheerful  mouth  set  awry  in  a  shrewd  smile  that  seemed 
to  s^y  "So  ho!"  She  recognised  a  strange,  new  note 
of  profound,  though  not  arrogant,  self-respect  in  her 
grandson. 

"Prophets,"  Hennessey  added  more  gently,  "have 
always  been  inclined  to  dwell  in  the  wilderness." 

"But  where  can  you  find  a  wilderness  in  these  days  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Merillia,  still  smiling.  "Even  Hammer- 
smith is  becomin'  quite  a  fashionable  neighbourhood. 
And  you  say  that  the  Almanac  man  lives  in  Shaftes- 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        27 

bury  Avenue,  only  half  a  minute  from  Piccadilly  Cir- 
cus." 

"My  dear  grannie,"  he  corrected  her,  "I  said  he  re- 
ceived letters  there.    I  don't  know  where  he  lives." 
"How  are  you  goin'  to  find  him  then?" 
"I  shall  call  this  afternoon  at  eleven  hundred  Z." 
"To  see  if  he  has  run  in  for  a  postcard!    And  what 
sort  of  person  do  you  expect  him  to  be?" 
"Something  quite  out  of  the  common." 
Mrs.  Merillia  screwed  up  her  eyes  doubtfully. 
"I  hope  you  won't  be  disappointed.    How  many  edi- 
tions have  there  been  of  the  Almanac?" 
"Seventy  yearly  editions." 
"Then  Malkiel  must  be  a  very  old  man." 
"But  this  Mr.  Malkiel  is  Malkiel  the  Second." 
"One  of  a  dynasty !    That  alters  the  case.    Perhaps 
he's  a  young  man  about  town.    There  are  young  men 
about  town,  I  believe,  who  have  addresses  at  clubs  and 
libraries,  and  sleep  on  doorsteps,  or  in  the  Park.    Well, 
Hennessey,  I  see  you  are  getting  fidgety.     You  had 
better  be  off.    Buy  me  some  roses  for  my  room  on  your 
way  home.     I'm  expectin'  someone  to  have  tea  with 
the  poor  victim  of  prophecy  this  afternoon." 

The  Prophet  kissed  his  grandmother,  put  on  his 
overcoat  and  stepped  into  the  square. 

It  was  a  bright,  frosty,  genial  day,  and  he  resolved 
to  walk  to  Jellybrand's  Library. 

London  was  looking  quite  light-hearted  in  the  dry, 
cold  air,  which  set  a  bloom  even  upon  the  cheeks  of  the 
ambassadors  who  were  about,  and  caused  the  butcher 
boys  to  appear  like  peonies.  The  crossing-sweepers 
swept  nothing  vigorously,  and  were  rewarded  with 
showers  of  pence  from  pedestrians  delighting  in  the 


28       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

absence  of  mud.  Crystal  as  some  garden  of  an  eternal 
city  seemed  the  green  Park,  wrapped  in  its  frosty 
mantle  embroidered  with  sunbeams.  Even  the  drivers 
of  the  "growlers"  were  moderately  cheerful — a  very 
rare  occurrence — and  the  blind  man  of  Piccadilly 
smiled  as  he  roared  along  the  highway,  striking  the 
feet  of  the  charitable  with  the  wand  which  was  the 
emblem  of  his  profession. 

Only  the  Prophet  was  solemn  on  this  delicious  after- 
noon. People  looked  at  him  and  thought  that  he  must 
surely  be  the  richest  man  of  the  town.  His  face  was 
so  sad. 

He  wound  across  the  whirlpool,  where  the  green 
image  postures  to  the  human  streams  that  riot  below  it. 
He  saw  beneath  their  rooves  of  ostrich  feathers  the 
girls  shake  their  long  earrings  above  sweet  violets  and 
roses  fainting  with  desire  to  be  bought  by  country 
cousins. 

"Where  is  eleven  hundred  Z,  if  you  please?"  he 
asked  the  Shaftesbury  Avenue  policeman. 

"Jellybrand's,  sir?  On  the  right  between  the  cream 
shop  and  the  engine  warehouse,  just  opposite  the  place 
where  they  sell  parrots,  after  that  there  patent  medicine 
depot." 

The  Prophet  bowed,  thinking  of  the  blessings  of 
knowledge.  In  a  moment  he  stood  before  the  library 
and  glanced  at  its  dirty  window.  He  saw  several  let- 
ters lying  against  the  glass.  One  was  addressed  to 
"Miss  Minerva  Partridge."  He  stepped  in,  wondering 
what  she  was  like. 

Jellybrand's  Library  was  a  small,  square  room  con- 
taining a  letter  rack,  a  newspaper  stand,  a  bookcase 
and  a  counter.  It  was  fitted  up  with  letters,  papers, 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        29 

books,  and  a  big  boy  with  a  bulging  head.  The  last- 
named  stood  behind  the  counter,  stroking  his  irregular 
profile  with  one  hand,  and  throwing  a  box  of  J  ni,bs 
into  the  air  and  catching  it  with  the  other.  Upon  the 
Prophet's  entrance  this  youth  obligingly  dropped  the 
nibs  accidentally  upon  the  floor,  and  arranged  his  sharp 
and  anaemic  face  in  an  expression  of  consumptive  in- 
quiry. The  Prophet  approached  the  counter  softly, 
and  allowed  the  sable  with  which  his  coat  was 
trimmed  to  rest  against  it. 

"Did  a  boy  messenger  call  here  a  few  days  ago  with 
a  note  for  Mr.  Malkiel  ?"  he  asked. 

The  young  librarian  assumed  an  attitude  of  vital  sus- 
picion and  the  expression  of  a  lynx. 

"For  Malkiel  the  Second,  sir?"  he  replied  in  a  pierc- 
ing soprano  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Prophet.  "A  boy  messenger  with 
four  medals.  There  was  a  crest  on  the  envelope — an 
elephant  rampant  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  bees." 

A  dogged  look  of  combined  terror  and  resolution 
overspread  the  young  librarian's  countenance. 

"There's  been  no  elephant  and  no  swarm  of  bees  in 
here,"  he  said  with  trembling  curtness. 

"You  are  sure  you  would  have  remembered  the  cir- 
cumstance if  there  had  been?" 

"Rather!  What  do  you  think?  We  don't  allow 
things  of  them  sort  in  here,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  Prophet  drew  out  half  a  sovereign,  upon  which 
a  ray  of  sunshine  immediately  fell  as  if  in  benediction. 

"Does  Mr.  Malkiel—" 

"Malkiel  the  Second,"  interrupted  the  young 
librarian,  whose  pinkish  eyes  winked  at  the  illumina- 
tion of  the  gold. 


30       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"Malkiel  the  Second  ever  call  here — in  person  ?" 

"In  person?"  said  the  young  librarian,  very  sus- 
piciously. 

"Exactly." 

"I  don't  know  about  in  person.    He  calls  here." 

"Ah,"  said  the  Prophet,  recognising  in  the  youth  a 
literary  sense  that  instinctively  rejected  superfluity. 
"He  does  call.  May  I  ask  when?" 

"When  he  chooses,"  said  the  young  librarian,  and 
he  winked  again. 

"Does  he  choose  often?" 

"He's  got  his  day,  like  Miss  Partridge  and  lots  of 
'em." 

"I  see.    Is  his  day — by  chance — a  Thursday?" 

It  was  a  Thursday  afternoon. 

"I  don't  know  about  by  chance,"  rejoined  the  young 
librarian,  his  literary  sense  again  coming  into  play. 
"But  it's—" 

At  this  moment  the  library  door  opened,  and  a  tall, 
thin,  middle-aged  man  walked  in  sideways  with  his 
feet  very  much  turned  out  to  right  and  left  of  him. 

"Any  letters,  Frederick  Smith  ?"  he  said  in  a  hollow 
voice,  on  reaching  the  counter. 

"Two,  Mr.  Sagittarius,  I  believe,"  replied  the  young 
librarian,  moving  with  respectful  celerity  towards  the 
letter  rack. 

The  Prophet  started  and  looked  eagerly  at  the  new- 
comer. His  eyes  rested  upon  an  individual  whose  face 
was  comic  in  outline  with  a  serious  expression, 
and  whose  form  suggested  tragic  farce  dressed  to  rep- 
resent commonplace,  as  seen  at  Margate  and  else- 
where. A  top  hat,  a  spotted  collar,  a  pink  shirt,  a 
white  satin  tie,  a  chocolate  brown  frock  coat,  brown 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        3 1 

trousers  and  boots,  and  a  black  overcoat  thrown  open 
from  top  to  bottom — these  appurtenances,  clerkly  in 
their  adherence  to  a  certain  convention,  could  not 
wholly  disguise  the  emotional  expression  that  seems 
sometimes  to  lurk  in  shape.  The  lines  of  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius defied  their  clothing.  His  shoulders  gave  the 
lie  to  the  chocolate  brown  frock  coat.  His  legs  breathed 
defiance  to  the  trousers  that  sheathed  them.  One 
could,  in  fancy,  see  the  former  shrugged  in  all  the 
abandonment  of  third-act  despair,  behold  the  latter 
darting  wildly  for  the  cover  afforded  by  a  copper,  a 
cupboard,  or  any  other  friendly  refuge  of  those  poor 
victims  of  ludicrous  and  terrific  circumstance  who  are 
so  sorely  smitten  and  afflicted  upon  the  funny  stage. 

Mr.  Sagittarius,  in  fine,  seemed  a  man  dressed  in  a 
mask  that  was  unable  to  deceive.  His  lean  face  was 
almost  absurd  in  its  irregularity,  its  high  cheek-bones 
and  deep  depressions,  its  sharp  nose,  extensive  mouth 
and  nervous  chin.  But  the  pale  blue  eyes  that  were  its 
soul  shone  plaintively  beneath  their  shaggy,  blonde 
eyebrows,  and  even  an  application  of  pomade  almost 
hysterically  lavish  could  not  entirely  conceal  the  curl- 
ing gloom  of  the  heavy,  matted  hair. 

"Yes,  two,  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  cried  the  young  libra- 
rian, approaching  from  the  rack. 

The  gentleman  held  out  a  hand  covered  with  a 
yellow  dogskin  glove. 

"Thank  you,  Frederick  Smith,"  he  said. 

And  he  turned  to  leave  the  building.  But  the 
Prophet  intercepted  him. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  Prophet.  "I  beg  your  par- 
don, but — but — "  he  looked  at  the  young  librarian 
and  accidentally  let  the  half  sovereign  fall  on  the 


32       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

counter.    It  gave  the  true  ring.    "I  believe  I  heard  you 
mention — let  drop  the  name  Mr.  Sagittarius." 

"I  don't  know  about  let  drop,"  began  the  youth  in  his 
usual  revising  manner.    "But  I — " 

At  this  point  the  gentleman  in  question  began  to 
move  rather  hastily  sideways  towards  the  door.  The 
Prophet  followed  him  up  and  got  before  him  near  the 
letter  rack,  while  the  young  librarian  retrieved  the  half 
sovereign  and  bit  it  with  his  teeth. 

"I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Prophet,  while 
Mr.  Sagittarius  stood  still  in  the  violent  attitude  of  one 
determined  to  dodge  so  long  as  he  has  breath.  "I  am 
not  at  all  in  the  habit  of" — Mr.  Sagittarius  dodged — 
"of  intruding  upon  strangers — "  Mr.  Sagittarius 
dodged  again  with  such  extraordinary  abruptness  and 
determination  that  he  nearly  caused  the  young  librarian 
to  swallow  the  Prophet's  golden  bribe.  "I  see  you 
don't  believe  me,"  the  Prophet  continued,  flushing  pink 
but  still  holding  his  ground,  and  indeed  trying  to  turn 
Mr.  Sagittarius's  flank  by  a  strategic  movement  of  al- 
most military  precision.  "I  see  that  plainly,  but — " 
Mr.  Sagittarius  ducked  to  the  left,  endeavouring  to 
cover  the  manoeuvre  by  an  almost  simultaneous  and 
extremely  passionate  feint  towards  the  Prophet's  centre, 
which  was  immediately  withdrawn  in  good  order — 
"but  your  remark — arkable  name,  Sag — itt — ittarius, 
suggested  to  me  that  you  are  rea — eally  the  man  I 
seek." 

He  had  now  got  Mr.  Sagittarius  into  a  very  awkward 
bit  of  country  between  the  letter  P.  in  the  rack,  under 
which  reposed  Miss  Partridge's  correspondence,  and 
the  newspaper  bureau,  with  the  counter  immediately 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed       33 

on  his  rear,  and  taking  advantage  of  this  circum- 
stance, he  continued  rapidly : 

"May  I  ask  whether  you  recently  received  a  letter — 
one  moment! — envelope — crest — I  only  want  to  know 
if  you  have  received — only — an  elephant  rampant — 
swarm  of — of  bees — " 

"I  have  never  received  a  rampant  elephant  and  a 
swarm  of  bees,"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius  with  every 
symptom  of  unbridled  terror.  "Help,  Frederick 
Smith !" 

"Right  you  are,  Malkiel  the  Second !"  cried  the 
young  librarian,  hastily  pocketing  the  half  sovereign 
and  making  a  feverish  lunge  at  nothing  in  particular 
over  the  counter.  "Right  you  are !" 

"Malkiel  the  Second!"  ejaculated  the  Prophet. 
"Then  you  are  the  man  I  seek." 

Malkiel  the  Second — for  it  was  indeed  he — sank 
back  against  the  counter  in  an  attitude  of  abandoned 
prostration  that  would  have  made  the  fortune  of  a 
comic  actor. 

"I  trusted  to  Jellybrand's,"  he  said,  drawing  from  his 
tail  pocket  a  white  handkerchief  covered  with  a  pattern 
of  ping  storks  in  flight.  "I  trusted  to  Jellybrand's 
and  Jellybrand's  has  betrayed  me.  Oh,  Frederick 
Smith !" 

He  put  a  stork  to  each  eye.  The  young  librarian 
assumed  an  injured  air. 

"It  was  the  agitation  did  it,  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  he 
said.  "If  you  hadn't  a-kep'  dodging  I  shouldn't  have 
lost  my  memory." 

And  he  looked  avariciously  at  the  Prophet,  who 
smiled  at  him  reassuringly  and  drew  forth  a  card  case. 


34       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  feel  sure,  Mr.  Sag— Malkiel— " 

"Malkiel  the  Second,  sir,  is  my  name  if  it  is  betrayed 
by  Jellybrand's,"  said  that  gentleman  with  sudden  dig- 
nity. "There  is  no  need  of  any  mister." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Prophet,  handing  his 
card.  "That  is  my  name  and  address.  May  I  beg  you 
to  forgive  my  apparent  anxiety  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, and  implore  you  to  grant  me  a  few  moments  of 
private  conversation  on  a  matter  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance ?" 

Malkiel  the  Second  read  the  card. 

"Berkeley  Square,"  he  said.  "The  Berkeley 
Square  ?" 

"Exactly,  the  Berkeley  Square,"  said  the  Prophet, 
modestly. 

"Not  the  one  at  Brixton  Rise  behind  Kimmins's 
mews  ?"  said  Malkiel  the  Second,  suspiciously. 

"Certainly  not.    The  one  near  Grosvenor  Square." 

"That's  better,"  said  Malkiel,  upon  whom  the 
Prophet's  address  had  evidently  made  a  good  impres- 
sion. "Kimmins's  is  no  class  at  all.  Had  you  come 
from  there,  I — but  what  may  you  want  with  me?" 

The  Prophet  glanced  significantly  at  the  young  li- 
brarian, who  was  leaning  upon  the  counter  in  a  tense, 
keyhole  position,  with  his  private  ear  turned  somewhat 
ostentatiously  towards  the  two  speakers. 

"I  can  tell  you  in  an  inner  room,"  he  murmured,  in 
his  most  ingratiating  manner. 

"You're  certain  it's  not  Berkeley  Square  behind 
Kimmins's?"  said  Malkiel,  with  a  last  flicker  of  sus- 
picion. 

"Quite  certain — quite." 

"Frederick  Smith,"  said  Malkiel  the  Second,  "since 


Malkiel  the  Second  is  Betrayed        35 

Jellybrand's  has  betrayed  me  Jellybrand's  must  abide 
the  consequences.  Show  this  gentleman  and  me  to  the 
parlour." 

"Right,  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  replied  the  young  libra- 
rian whose  memory  had  again  become  excellent.  "But 
Miss  Minerva  is  coming  at  three-thirty." 

"Has  she  bespoke  the  parlour,  Frederick  Smith?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Sagittarius." 

"Then  she  can't  have  it.  That's  all.  Jellybrand's 
must  abide  the  full  consequences  of  my  betrayal.  Go 
forward,  Frederick  Smith." 

The  young  librarian  went  forward  towards  a  door  of 
deal  and  ground  glass  which  he  threw  open  with  some 
ceremony. 

"The  parlour,  gents,"  he  said. 

"After  you,  sir,  after  you,"  said  Malkiel  the  Second, 
making  a  side  step  and  bringing  his  feet  together  in 
the  first  position. 

"No,  no,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  gently  drawing  the 
sage  to  the  front,  and  inserting  him  into  the  parlour 
in  such  an  ingenious  manner  that  he  did  not  perceive 
the  journey  of  a  second  half  sovereign  from  the  person 
of  the  Prophet  to  that  of  the  young  librarian,  who 
thereafter  closed  the  deal  and  ground  glass  door,  and 
returned  to  the  counter,  whistling  in  an  absent-minded 
manner,  "I'm  a  Happy  Millionaire  from  Colorado." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   TWO    PROPHETS    PARTAKE   OF    "CREAMING    FOAM. 


now,  sir,"  said  Malkiel  the  Second,  pointing 
to  a  couple  of  cane  chairs  which,  with  a  table,  endeav- 
oured, rather  unsuccessfully,  to  furnish  forth  the  par- 
lour at  Jellybrand's,  "now,  sir,  what  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

As  he  spoke  he  threw  his  black  overcoat  wide  open, 
seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  chairs  in  a 
dignified  attitude,  and  crossed  his  feet  —  which  were 
not  innocent  of  spats  —  one  over  the  other. 

The  Prophet  was  resolved  to  dare  all,  and  he,  there- 
fore, answered  boldly,  — 

"Malkiel  the  Second,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  as  one 
prophet  to  another." 

At  this  remark  Malkiel  started  violently,  and  darted 
a  searching  glance  from  beneath  his  blonde  eyebrows 
at  Hennessey. 

"Do  you  live  in  the  Berkeley  Square,  sir,"  he  said, 
"and  claim  to  be  a  prophet?" 

"I  do,"  said  Hennessey,  with  modest  determination. 

Malkiel  smiled,  a  long  and  wreathed  smile  that  was 
full  of  luscious  melancholy  and  tragic  sweetness. 

"The  assumption  seems  rather  ridiculous  —  forgive 
me,"  he  exclaimed.  "The  Berkeley  Square  !  Whatever 
would  Madame  say?" 


Prophets  Partake  of  "Creaming  Foam"    37 

"Madame?"  said  the  Prophet,  inquiringly. 

"Madame  Malkiel,  or  Madame  Sagittarius,  as  she 
always  passes." 

"Your  wife?" 

"My  honoured  lady,"  said  Malkiel,  with  pride. 
"More  to  me  almost  than  any  lunar  guide  or  starry 
monitor.  What,  oh,  what  would  she  say  to  a  prophet 
from  the  Berkeley  Square?" 

He  burst  into  hollow  laughter,  shaking  upon  the 
cane  chair  till  its  very  foundations  seemed  threatened 
as  by  an  earthquake,  and  was  obliged  to  apply  the  flight 
of  storks  to  his  eyes  before  he  could  in  any  degree  re- 
cover his  equanimity.  At  length  he  glanced  up  with 
tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said.  "But  what  can  you  know 
of  prophecy  in  such  a  fashionable  neighbourhood,  close 
to  Grosvenor  Square  and  within  sight,  as  one  may  say, 
of  Piccadilly  ?  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear !" 

"But  really,"  said  the  Prophet,  who  had  flushed  red, 
but  who  still  spoke  with  pleasant  mildness,  "what  in- 
fluence can  neighbourhood  have  upon  such  a  super- 
terrestrial  matter?" 

"Did  Isaiah  reside  in  the  Berkeley  Square,  sir?" 

"I  fancy  not.     Still—" 

"I  fancy  not,  too,"  rejoined  Malkiel.  "Nor  Bernard 
Wilkins  either,  nor  any  prophet  that  ever  I  heard  of. 
Why,  even  Jesse  Jones  lives  off  Perkin's  Road,  Wands- 
worth  Common,  though  he  does  keep  a  sitting-room 
in  Berners  Street  just  to  see  his  clients  in,  and  he  is  a 
very  low-class  person,  even  for  a  prophet.  No,  no,  sir, 
Madame  is  quite  right.  She  married  me  despite  the 
damning — yes,  I  say,  sir,  the  damning  fact  that  I  was 
a  prophet — "  here  Malkiel  the  Second  brought  down 


38       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

one  of  the  dogskin  gloves  with  violence  upon  the  rick- 
ety parlour  table — "but  before  ever  we  went  to  the 
Registrar's  she  made  me  take  a  solemn  oath.  What 
was  it,  do  you  say?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Hennessey,  leaning  forward  and 
gazing  into  Malkiel's  long  and  excited  face  round 
which  the  heavy  mat  of  pomaded  hair  vibrated. 

"It  was  this,  sir — to  mix  with  no  prophets  so  long 
as  we  both  should  live.  Prophets,  she  truly  said,  are 
low-class,  are  even  dirty,  persons.  Their  parties,  their 
'at  homes'  are  shoddy.  They  live  in  fourth-rate  neigh- 
bourhoods. They  burn  gas  and  sit  on  horsehair.  Only 
in  rare  cases  do  they  have  any  bathroom  in  their 
houses.  Their  influence  would  be  bad  for  the  children 
when  they  begin  to  grow  up.  How  could  Corona  make 
her  debut" — Malkiel  pronounced  it  debbew — "in 
prophetic  circles  ?  How  could  she  come  out  in  Drake- 
man's  Villas,  Tooting,  or  dance  with  such  young  fellers 
as  frequent  Hagglin's  Buildings,  Clapham  Rise?  How 
could  she  do  it,  sir  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  gasped  the  Prophet. 

"Nor  I,  sir,  nor  I,"  continued  Malkiel,  with  unabated 
fervour.  "And  it's  the  same  with  Capricornus.  My 
boy  shall  not  be  thrown  with  prophets.  Did  Malkiel 
the  First  start  the  Almanac  for  that  ?  Did  he  foster  it 
till  it  went  from  the  poor  servant  girl's  attic  into  the 
gilded  apartments  of  the  aristocracy  and  lay  even  upon 
Royal  tables  for  that  ?  Did  he,  I  say  ?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"He  did  not,  sir.  And  I — I  myself" — he  arranged 
the  diamond  pin  in  his  white  satin  tie  with  an  almost 
imperial  gesture — "have  not  followed  upon  the  lines 
he  laid  down  without  imbibing,  as  I  may  truly  say,  the 


Prophets  Partake  of  "Creaming  Foam'/    39 

lofty  spirit  that  guided  him,  the  lofty  social  spirit,  as 
Madame  calls  it.  There  have  been  other  prophets,  I 
know.  There  are  other  prophets.  I  do  not  attempt  to 
deny  it.  But  where  else  than  here,  sir" — the  dogskin 
glove  lay  upon  the  breast  of  the  chocolate  brown  frock 
coat — "where  else  than  here  will  you  find  a  prophet 
who  hides  his  identity  beneath  an  alias,  who  remains, 
as  Madame  always  says,  perdew,  and  who  conducts  his 
profession  on  honourable  and  business-like  lines?  Am 
I  dressed  like  a  prophet?"  He  suddenly  brought  his 
doubled  fist  down  upon  the  Prophet's  knee. 

"No,"  cried  Hennessey.     "Certainly  not!" 

"Why,  sir,  how  can  I  be  when  I  tell  you  that  Merri- 
man  &  Saxster  of  Regent  Street  are  my  tailors,  and 
have  been  since  my  first  pair  of  trouserings?  Do  I 
bear  myself  prophetically  ?  I  think  you  will  agree  that 
I  do  not  when  you  know  that  I  am  frequently  mistaken 
for  an  outside  broker — yes,  sir,  and  that  this  has  even 
happened  upon  the  pier  at  Margate.  You  have  seen 
my  demeanour  at  Jellybrand's.  You  saw  me  come  into 
the  library.  You  saw  my  manner  with  Frederick 
Smith.  Was  it  assuming?  Did  I  lord  it  over  the  lad ?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"No.  I  might  have  been  anybody,  any  ordinary  per- 
son living  in  Grosvenor  Place,  or,  like  yourself,  in  the 
Berkeley  Square.  And  so  it  ever  is.  Other  prophets 
there  are — possibly  men  of  a  certain  ability  even  in  that 
direction — but  there  is  only  one  Malkiel,  only  one  who 
attends  strictly  to  business,  who  draws  a  good  income 
from  the  stars,  sir,  and  satisfies  the  public  month  in, 
month  out,  without  making  a  fuss  about  it.  Wait  a  few 
years,  sir,  only  wait !" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Prophet.    "I  will.0 


40       The   Prophet -of  Berkeley   Square* 

"Wait  till  the  children  are  grown  up.  Wait  till 
Corona  has  mastered  her  French  and  Capricornus  has 
got  his  Latin  by  heart  and  gone  to  Oxford.  Then,  and 
only  then,  you  will  know  whether  Malkiel  the  Second 
is  the  exception  to  the  rule  of  prophets.  Yes,  and 
Madame  shall  know  it,  too.  She  trusted  me,  sir,  as 
only  a  woman  can.  She  knew  I  was  a  prophet  and  had 
a  prophet  for  a  father  before  me.  And  yet  she  trusted 
me.  It  was  a  daring  thing  to  do.  Many  would  call  it 
foolhardy.  Wouldn't  they,  sir?" 

The  dogskin  glove  was  raised.  The  Prophet  hast- 
ened to  reply, — 

"I  daresay  they  would." 

"But  she  was  not  afraid,  and  she  shall  have  her  re- 
ward. Corona  shall  never  set  foot  in  Drakeman's 
Villas,  nor  breathe  the  air  of  Hagglin's.  I  must  have  a 
glass  of  water,  I  must,  sir,  indeed." 

He  gasped  heavily  and  was  about  to  rise,  when  the 
Prophet  said : 

"Join  me  in  a  glass  of  wine." 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  Malkiel  answered.  "De- 
lighted, I'm  sure,  but  I  doubt  whether  Jellybrand's — " 

"Could  not  Frederick  Smith  go  out  and  fetch  us  a 
— a  pint  bottle  of  champagne  ?"  said  the  Prophet,  play- 
ing a  desperate  card  in  the  prophetic  game. 

An  expression  almost  of  joviality  overspread  the 
tragic  farce  of  Malkiel's  appearance. 

"We'll  see,"  he  answered,  opening  the  deal  door. 
"Frederick  Smith !" 

"Here,  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  cried  the  soprano  voice  of 
the  young  librarian. 

"Can  you  leave  the  library  for  a  moment,  Frederick 
Smith?" 


Prophets  Partake  of  "  Creaming  Foam"    41 

The  Prophet  held  up  a  sovereign  over  Malkiel  the 
Second's  narrow  shoulder. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Sagittarius,  for  half  a  mo !" 

"Ah!  Where  is  the  nearest  champagne,  Frederick 
Smith?" 

"The  nearest—" 

"Champagne,  I  said,  Frederick  Smith." 

"I  daresay  I  could  get  a  dozen  at  Gillow's  next  the 
rabbit  shop,"  replied  the  young  librarian,  thoughtfully. 

The  Prophet  shuddered  to  the  depths  of  his  being, 
but  he  was  now  embarked  upon  his  enterprise  and  must 
crowd  all  sail. 

"Go  to  Gillow's,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  assumption 
of  feverish  geniality,  "and  bring  back  a  couple  of  rab- 
bits— I  mean  bottles.  They  must  be  dry.  You  under- 
stand?" 

The  young  librarian  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"Oh,  I'll  manage  that,  sir.  It  ain't  raining,"  he  re- 
plied carelessly. 

The  Prophet  stifled  a  cry  of  horror  as  he  pressed  the 
sovereign  into  the  young  librarian's  hand. 

"You  can  keep  the  change,"  he  whispered,  adding 
in  a  tremulous  voice,  "Tell  me — tell  me  frankly — do 
you  think  in  your  own  mind  that  there  will  be  any  ?" 

"I  don't  know  about  in  my  own  mind,"  rejoined  the 
young  librarian,  drawing  a  tweed  cap  from  some  hid- 
den recess  beneath  the  counter.  "But  if  you  only  want 
two  bottles  I  expect  there'll  be  ten  bob  over." 

The  Prophet  turned  as  pale  as  ashee  and  had  some 
difficulty  in  sustaining  himself  to  the  parlour,  where  he 
and  Malkiel  the  Second  sat  down  in  silence  to  await 
the  young  librarian's  return.  Frederick  Smith  came 


42       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

back  in  about  five  minutes,  with  an  ostentatious-look- 
ing bottle  smothered  in  gold  leaf  under  each  arm. 

"There  was  four  shillings  apiece  to  pay,  sir,"  he  re- 
marked to  the  Prophet  as  he  placed  them  upon  the 
table.  "I  got  the  'our  own  make'  brand  with  the 
'creaming  foam'  upon  the  corks." 

The  Prophet  bent  his  head.  He  was  quite  unable  to 
speak,  but  he  signed  to  the  young  librarian  to  open  one 
of  the  bottles  and  pour  its  contents  into  the  two  tum- 
blers of  thick  and  rather  dusty  glass  that  Jellybrand's 
kept  for  its  moments  of  conviviality.  Malkiel  the  Sec- 
ond lifted  the  goblet  to  the  window  and  eyed  the 
beaded  nectar  with  an  air  of  almost  rakish  anticipation. 

"Ready,  sir?"  he  said,  turning  to  the  Prophet,  who, 
with  a  trembling  hand,  followed  his  example. 

"Quite — ready,"  said  the  Prophet,  shutting  his  eyes. 

"Then,"  rejoined  Malkiel  the  Second  in  a  formal 
voice,  "here's  luck!" 

He  held  the  tumbler  to  his  lips,  waiting  for  the 
Prophet's  reply  to  give  the  signal  for  a  unanimous 
swallowing  of  the  priceless  wine. 

"Luck,"  echoed  the  Prophet  in  a  faltering  voice. 

As  he  gradually  recovered  his  faculties,  he  heard 
Malkiel  the  Second  say,  with  an  almost  debauched  ac- 
cent,— 

"That  puts  heart  into  a  man.  I  shall  give  Gillows 
an  order.  Leave  us,  Frederick  Smith,  and  remember 
that  Miss  Minerva  is  on  no  account  to  be  let  in  here  till 
this  gentleman  and  I  have  finished  the  second  bottle." 

The  Prophet  could  not  resist  a  wild  movement  of 
protest,  which  was  apparently  taken  by  the  young  li- 
brarian as  a  passionate  gesture  of  dismissal.  For  he 


Prophets  Partake  of  "  Creaming  Foam"    43 

left  the  room  rapidly  and  closed  the  deal  door  with 
decision  behind  him. 

"And  now,  sir,  I  am  at  your  service,"  said  Malkiel 
the  Second,  courteously.  "Let  me  pour  you  another 
glass  of  wine." 

The  Prophet  assented  mechanically.  It  seemed 
strange  to  have  to  die  so  young,  and  with  so  many 
plans  unfulfilled,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  useless  to 
struggle  against  destiny  and  he  drank  again.  Then  he 
heard  a  voice  say, — 

"And  now,  sir,  I  am  all  attention." 

He  looked  up.  He  saw  the  parlour,  the  ground 
glass  of  the  door,  the  tumblers  and  bottles  on  the  table, 
the  sharp  features  and  strained,  farcical  eyes  of  Malkiel 
framed  in  the  matted,  curling  hair.  Then  all  was  not 
over  yet.  There  was  something  still  in  store  for  him. 
He  sat  up,  pushed  the  creaming  four-shilling  foam  out 
of  his  sight,  turned  to  his  interlocutor,  and  with  a  great 
effort  collected  himself. 

"I  want  to  consult  you,"  he  began,  "about  my  strange 
powers." 

Malkiel  smiled  with  easy  irony. 

"Strange  powers  in  Berkeley  Square !"  he  ejaculated. 
"The  Berkeley  Square!  But  go  on,  sir.  What  are 
they?" 

"Having  been  led  to  study  the  stars,"  continued  the 
Prophet  with  more  composure  and  growing  earnest- 
ness, "I  felt  myself  moved  to  make  a  prophecy." 

"Weather  forecast,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Malkiel, 
laconically. 

"How  did  you  know  that?" 

"The  easiest  kind,  sir,  the  number  one  beginner's 
prophecy.  Capricornus  used  to  tell  Madame  what  the 


44       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

weather'd  be  as  soon  as  he  could  talk.  But  go  on,  sir, 
go  on,  I  beg." 

The  Prophet  began  to  feel  rather  less  like  Isaiah, 
but  he  continued,  with  some  determination, — 

"If  that  had  been  all,  I  daresay  I  should  have 
thought  very  little  of  the  matter." 

"No,  you  wouldn't  sir.  Who  thinks  their  first  baby 
a  little  one  ?  Can  you  tell  me  that  ?" 

The  Prophet  considered  the  question  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  answered, — 

"Perhaps  you're  right." 

"Perhaps  so,"  rejoined  Malkiel,  indulgently.  "Well, 
sir,  what  was  your  next  attempt — in  the  Berkeley 
Square  ?" 

The  Prophet's  sensitive  nature  winced  under  the 
obvious  irony  of  the  interrogation,  but  either  the 
"creaming  foam"  had  rendered  him  desperate,  or  he 
was  to  some  extent  steeled  against  satire  by  the  awful 
self-respect  which  had  invaded  him  since  Mrs.  Meril- 
lia's  accident.  In  any  case  he  answered  firmly, — 

"Malkiel  the  Second,  in  Berkeley  Square  I  had  a 
relation — an  honoured  grandmother." 

"You've  the  better  of  me  there,  sir.  My  parents 
and  Madame's  are  all  in  Brompton  Cemetery.  Well, 
sir,  you'd  got  an  honoured  grandmother  in  the  Ber- 
keley Square.  What  of  it?" 

"She  was  naturally  elderly." 

"And  you  predicted  her  death  and  she  passed  over. 
Very  natural  too,  sir.  The  number  two  beginner's 
prophecy.  Why,  Corona — " 

But  at  this  point  the  Prophet  broke  in. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said  in  a  scandalised  voice,  "excuse 
me,  Malkiel  the  Second,  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 


Prophets  Partake  of  "  Creaming  Foam"    45 

Whatever  my  faults  may  be — and  they  are  many,  I 
am  aware — I — I — " 

He  was  greatly  moved. 

"Take  another  sup  of  wine,  sir.  You  need  it,"  said 
Malkiel. 

The  Prophet  mechanically  drank  once  more,  grasp- 
ing the  edge  of  the  table  for  support  in  the  endurance 
of  the  four-bob  ecstasy. 

"You  prophesied  it  and  she  didn't  pass  over,  sir," 
continued  Malkiel,  with  unaffected  sympathy.  "I 
understand  the  blow.  It's  cruel  hard  when  a  prophecy 
goes  wrong.  Why,  even  Madame — " 

But  at  this  point  the  Prophet  broke  in. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  cried.    "Utterly  mistaken." 

Malkiel  the  Second  drew  himself  up  with  dignity. 

"In  that  case  I  will  say  no  more,"  he  remarked, 
pursing  up  his  lengthy  mouth  and  assuming  a  cast- 
iron  attitude. 

The  Prophet  perceived  his  mistake. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  exclaimed.    "It  is  my  fault." 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  Not  at  all,"  rejoined  Malkiel,  with  icy 
formality.  "Pray  let  the  fault  be  mine." 

"I  will  not  indeed.  But  let  me  explain.  My  beloved 
grandmother  still  lives,  although  I  cast  her  horoscope 
and—" 

"Indeed!  very  remarkable!" 

"I  mean — not  although — but  I  thought  I  would  cast 
her  horoscope.  And  I  did  so." 

"In  the  square?"  asked  Malkiel,  with  quiet,  but 
piercing,  irony. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Prophet,  with  sudden  heat.  "Why 
not?" 

Malkiel  smiled  with  an  almost  paternal  pity,  as  of 


46       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

a  thoughtful  father  gazing  upon  the  quaint  and  in- 
appropriate antics  of  his  vacant  child. 

"Why  not,  sir — if  you  prefer  it?"  he  rejoined. 
"Pray  proceed." 

The  Prophet's  face  was  flushed,  either  by  the 
"creaming  foam,"  or  by  irritation,  or  by  both. 

"Surely,"  he  began,  in  a  choking  voice,  "surely  the 
stars  are  the  same  whether  they  are  looked  at  from 
Berkeley  Square  or  from — from — or  from" — he  sought 
passionately  for  a  violent  contrast — "from  Newington 
Butts,"  he  concluded  triumphantly. 

"I  have  not  the  pleasure  to  have  ever  observed  my 
guides  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Butts,"  said 
Malkiel,  serenely.  "But  pray  proceed,  sir.  I  am  all 
attention.  You  cast  your  honoured  grandmother's 
horoscope — in  the  Berkeley  Square." 

The  Prophet  seized  his  glass,  but  some  remnants  of 
his  tattered  self-control  still  clung  to  him,  and  he  put 
it  down  without  seeking  further  madness  from  its 
contents. 

"I  did,"  he  said  firmly,  even  obstinately.  "And  I 
discovered — I  say  discovered  that  she  was  going  to 
have  an  accident  while  on  an  evening  expedition — or 
jaunt  as  you  might  perhaps  prefer  to  call  it." 

"I  should  certainly  call  it  so — in  the  case  of  a  lady 
who  was  an  honoured  grandmother,"  said  Malkiel  the 
Second  in  assent. 

"Well,  Malkiel  the  Second,"  continued  the  Prophet, 
recovering  his  composure  as  he  approached  his  coup, 
"my  grandmother  did  have  the  accident,  as  I  foretold." 

"Did  she  have  it  in  the  square,  sir?"  asked  Malkiel. 

"And  what  if  she  did?"  cried  the  Prophet  with 
considerable  testiness. 


Prophets  Partake  of  "  Creaming  Foam1'    47 

He  was  beginning  to  conceive  a  perfect  hatred  of  the 
admirable  neighbourhood,  which  he  had  loved  so  well. 

"I  merely  ask  for  information,  sir." 

"The  accident  did  take  place  in  the  square  certainly, 
and  on  the  very  night  for  which  I  predicted  it." 

Malkiel  the  Second  looked  very  thoughtful,  even 
morose.  He  poured  out  another  glass  of  champagne, 
drank  it  slowly  in  sips,  and  when  the  glass  was  empty 
ran  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  slowly  round  and 
round  its  edge. 

"Can  Madame  be  wrong?"  he  ejaculated  at  length, 
in  a  muffled  voice  of  meditation.  "Can  Madame  be 
wrong  ?" 

The  Prophet  gazed  at  him  with  profound  curiosity, 
fascinated  by  the  circular  movement  of  the  yellow 
dogskin  finger,  and  by  the  inward  murmur — so  acutely 
mental — that  accompanied  it. 

"Madame?"  whispered  the  Prophet,  drawing  his 
cane  chair  noiselessly  forward. 

"Ah!"  rejoined  Malkiel,  gazing  upon  him  with  an 
eye  whose  pupil  seemed  suddenly  dilated  to  a  most 
preternatural  size.  "Can  she  have  been  wrong  all 
these  many  years?" 

"What — what  about?"  murmured  the  Prophet. 

Malkiel  the  Second  leaned  his  matted  head  in  his 
hands  and  replied,  as  if  to  himself, — 

"Can  it  be  that  a  prophet  should  live  in  Berkeley 
Square — not  Kimmins's — here  he  raised  his  head,  and 
raked  his  companion  with  a  glance  that  was  almost 
fierce  in  its  fervour  of  inquiry — "not  Kimmins's  but 
— the  Berkeley  Square?" 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    SECRET    WATERS   OF    THE    RIVER    MOUSE 

To  this  question  the  Prophet  could  offer  no  answer 
other  than  a  bodily  one.  He  silently  presented  himself 
to  the  gaze  of  Malkiel,  instinctively  squaring  his  shoul- 
ders, opening  out  his  chest,  and  expanding  his  nostrils 
in  an  effort  to  fill  as  large  a  space  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  parlour  as  possible.  And  Malkiel  continued  to 
regard  him  with  the  staring  eyes  of  one  whose  mind 
is  seething  with  strange,  upheaving  thoughts  and 
alarming  apprehensions.  Mutely  the  Prophet  swelled, 
and  mutely  Malkiel  observed  him  swell,  till  a  point  was 
reached  from  which  further  progress — at  least  on  the 
Prophet's  part — was  impossible.  The  Prophet  was 
now  as  big  as  the  structure  of  his  frame  permitted  him 
to  be,  and  apparently  Malkiel  realised  the  fact,  for  he 
suddenly  dropped  his  eyes  and  exclaimed, — 

"This  matter  must  be  threshed  out  thoroughly. 
Madame  herself  would  wish  it  so." 

He  paused,  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  the  Prophet's, 
took  off  a  glove  and  continued, — 

"Sir,  you  may  be  a  prophet.  You  may  have  prophe- 
sied correctly  in  the  Berkeley  Square.  But  if  you  are, 
and  if  you  have,  remember  this — that  you  have  proved 
the  self-sacrifice,  the  privation,  the  denial,  the  subter- 
fuge, the  mask,  and  the  position  of  Sagittarius  Lodge 
in  its  own  grounds  beside  the  River  Mouse  at  Cramp- 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     49 

ton  St.  Peter,  N. — N.,  I  said,  sir — totally  and  entirely 
unnecessary.  I  will  go  further,  sir,  and  I  will  say 
more.  You  have  not  only  done  that.  You  have  also 
proved  the  sacred  instinct  of  a  woman,  a  respectable 
married  woman — such  as  we  must  all  reverence — false 
and  deceived.  Remember  this,  sir,  remember  all  this, 
then  search  yourself  thoroughly  and  say  whether  what 
you  have  told  me  is  strictly  true." 

"I  assure  you — "  began  the  Prophet,  hastily. 

But  Malkiel  sternly  interrupted  him. 

"Search  yourself,  sir,  I  beg!"  he  cried. 

"But  upon  my  honour — " 

"Hush,  sir,  hush!  I  beg,  nay,  I  insist,  that  you 
search  yourself  thoroughly  before  you  answer  this 
momentous  question." 

The  Prophet  felt  rather  disposed  to  ask  whether 
Malkiel  expected  him  to  examine  his  pockets  and  turn 
out  his  boots.  However,  he  sat  still  while  Malkiel 
drew  out  a.f  large  gold  watch,  held  it  solemnly  in  his 
hand  for  a  couple  of  minutes  and  then  returned  it  to 
his  waistcoat. 

"Now,  sir,"  he  said. 

"I  assure  you,"  said  the  Prophet,  "on  my  honour 
that  all  I  have  said  is  strictly  true." 

"And  took  place  in  the  Berkeley  Square?" 

"And  took  place  in  the  Berkeley  Square." 

Malkiel  nodded  morosely. 

"It  may  have  been  chance,"  he  said.  "A  weather 
forecast  and  an  honoured  grandmother  may  have  been 
mere  luck.  Still  it  looks  bad — very  bad." 

He  sighed  heavily,  and  seemed  about  to  fall  into 
a  mournful  reverie  when  the  Prophet  cried  sharply, — 

"Explain  yourself,  Malkiel  the  Second.     You  owe 


50     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

it  to  me  to  explain  yourself.    Why  should  my  strange 

gift—" 

"If  you  have  it,  sir,"  interrupted  Malkiel,  quickly. 

"If  I  have  it,  very  well — affect  you?  Why  should 
it  render  the  self-sacrifice  and — and  the  position  of — 
of  Sagittarius  Lodge  on  the  river — the  river — what 
river  did  you  say — ?" 

"The  River  Mouse,"  rejoined  Malkiel  in  a  muffled 
voice,  and  shaking  his  head  sadly. 

"Exactly — on  the  River  Mouse  at  Crompton — " 

"Crampton." 

"Crampton  St.  Peter  total — " 

"N. !" 

"What?" 

"Crampton  St.  Peter,  N.    That  is  the  point." 

"Very  well — Crampton  St.  Peteren,  totally  and  en- 
tirely unnecessary?" 

"You  desire  my  revelation,  sir  ?  You  desire  to  enter 
into  the  bosom  of  a  family  that  hitherto  has  dwelt 
apart,  has  lain  as  I  may  say  perdew  beside  the  secret 
waters  of  the  River  Mouse  ?  Is  it  indeed  so  ?" 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  cried  the  Prophet,  hastily. 
"I  would  not  for  the  world  intrude  upon — " 

"Those  hallowed  precincts!  Well,  perhaps  you 
have  the  right.  Jellybrand's  has  betrayed  me  to  you. 
You  know  my  name,  my  profession.  Why  should  you 
not  know  more?  Perhaps  it  is  better  so." 

With  the  sudden  energy  of  a  man  who  is  reckless 
of  fate  he  seized  his  goblet,  poured  into  it  at  least 
a  shilling's  worth  of  "creaming  foam,"  drained  it  to 
the  dregs  and,  shaking  back  his  matted  hair  with  a 
leonine  movement  of  the  head,  exclaimed, — 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     5 1 

"Malkiel  the  First,  who  founded  the  Almanac,  lay 
perdeiv  all  his  life." 

"Beside  the  secret  waters  of  the  River  Mouse?"  the 
Prophet  could  not  help  interposing. 

"No,  sir.  He  would  never  have  gone  so  far  as  that. 
He  lived  and  died  in  Susan  Road  beside  the  gas-works. 
He  was  a  great  man." 

"I'm  sure  he  was/'  said  the  Prophet,  heartily. 

"He  wished  me  to  live  and  die  there  too,"  said  Mal- 
kiel. "But  there  are  limits,  sir,  even  to  the  forbearance 
of  women.  Madame  was  affected,  painfully  affected, 
by  the  gas,  sir.  It  stank  in  her  nostrils — to  use  a 
figure.  And  then  there  was  another  drawback  that  she 
could  not  get  over." 

"Indeed !" 

"The  sweeps,  sir." 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  said  the  Prophet. 

"I  said — the  sweeps." 

"I  heard  you— well?" 

"Being  the  only  people  that  were  not,  in  the  whole 
road,  made  for  loneliness,  sir." 

The  prophet  was  entirely  bouleversc. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  very  stupid,  but  really  I — "  he 
began. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  live  in  London,  sir,  and  are 
not  aware  that  Susan  Road  lies  in  the  most  sought- 
after  portion  of  the  sweeps'  quarter?"  said  Malkiel, 
with  pitying  amazement. 

The  Prophet  blushed  with  shame. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Of  course — I  understand.  Pray 
go  on." 

"It  made  for  loneliness,  sir." 


52     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"Naturally." 

"Their  hours  were  not  our  hours.  And  then  the 
professional  colour!  Madame  said  it  was  like  living 
among  the  Sandwich  Islanders.  And  so,  to  an  extent, 
it  was.  My  father  had  left  a  very  tidy  bit  of  money — 
a  very  tidy  bit  indeed,  and  we  resolved  to  move.  But 
where?  That  was  the  problem.  For  I  was  not  as 
other  men.  I  could  not  live  like  them — in  the  Berkeley 
Square." 

He  smiled  with  mournful  superiority  and  contin- 
ued,— 

"At  least  I  thought  so  then,  and  have  done  till  to- 
day. Prophets — so  my  father  believed,  and  so  Madame 
— must  be  connected  with  the  suburbs  or  with  outlying 
districts.  They  must  not,  indeed  they  cannot,  be 
properly  prophetic  within  the  radius.  A  central  atmos- 
phere would  reduce  them  to  the  level  of  the  conjuror 
or  the  muscular  suggestionist.  Malkiel  the  First,  my 
father,  was  born  himself  in  Peckham,  and  met  my 
mother  when  coming  through  the  rye." 

He  brushed  aside  a  tear  that  flowed  at  this  almost 
rustic  recollection,  and  continued, — 

"Yet  Madame  was  wishful,  and  I  was  wishful  too, 
that  the  children — if  we  had  any — should  not  grow  up 
Eastern.  It  was  a  natural  and  a  beautiful  desire,  sir, 
was  it  not?" 

"Oh,  very,"  replied  the  Prophet,  considerably  con- 
fused. 

"The  habits  and  manners  of  the  East,  you  see,  sir, 
are  not  always  in  strict  accordance  with  propriety. 
Are  they?" 

Before  the  Prophet  had  time  to  realise  that  this 
question  was  merely  rhetorical,  he  began, — 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     53 

"From  what  Professor  Seligman  says  in  his  The 
Inner  History  of  Baghdad,  I  feel  sure — " 

"Nor  are  the  customs  of  the  East  quite  what  many 
a  clergyman  would  approve  of,"  continued  Malkiel. 
"Yet  even  this  was  not  what  weighed  most  with 
Madame." 

"What  was  it  then?"  inquired  the  Prophet,  deeply 
interested. 

"Sir,  it  was  the  Eastern  language." 

"Ah !" 

"Could  we  let  our  children  learn  to  speak  it  ?  Could 
we  bear  to  launch  them  in  life,  handicapped,  weighed 
down  by  such  a  tongue  ?  Could  we  do  this  ?" 

Again  the  Prophet  mistook  the  nature  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  was  led  to  reply, — 

"Certainly  English  children  speaking  only  Arabic 
might  well  be  at  some  loss  in  ordinary  conver — " 

"We  could  not,  sir.  It  was  impossible.  So  we  re- 
solved to  go  to  the  north  of  London  and  to  avoid 
Whitechapel  at  whatever  cost." 

"Whitechapel!"  almost  cried  the  Prophet. 

"This  determination  it  was,  sir,  that  eventually  led 
our  steps  to  the  borders  of  the  River  Mouse." 

"Oh,  really!" 

"You  know  it,  sir  ?" 

"Not  personally." 

"But  by  repute,  of  course?" 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  stammered  the  Prophet,  who 
had  in  fact  never  before  heard  of  this  celebrated  flood. 

"That  poor  governess,  sir,  last  August — you  recol- 
lect?" 

"Ah,  indeed!"  murmured  the  Prophet,  a  trifle  inco- 
herently. 


54       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"And  then  the  mad  undertaker  in  the  autumn," 
continued  Malkiel,  with  conscious  pride;  "he  floated 
past  our  very  door." 

"Did  he  really?" 

"Singing  his  swan  song,  no  doubt,  poor  feller,  as 
Madame  said  after  she  read  about  it  in  the  paper. 
There  were  the  grocer's  twins  as  well,  just  lately.  But 
they  will  be  fresh  in  your  memory." 

Before  the  Prophet  had  time  to  state  whether  this 
was  so  or  not  Malkiel  proceeded, — 

"Well,  sir,  as  soon  as  Madame  and  I  had  come  to 
the  Mouse  we  resolved  that  we  could  do  no  better  than 
that.  It  was  salubrious,  it  was  retired,  and  it  was  N." 

"You  said—?" 

"N.,  sir." 

"But  what  is  en?" 

"Sir?" 

The  Prophet  had  grown  very  red,  but  he  was  seized 
by  the  desperation  that  occasionally  attacks  ignorance, 
and  renders  it,  for  a  moment,  determinedly  explicit. 

"I  ask  you  what  does  en  mean  ?  I  am,  I  fear,  a  very 
ill-informed  person,  and  I  really  don't  know." 

"Think  of  an  envelope,  sir,"  said  Malkiel,  with  gentle 
commiseration.  "Well,  are  you  thinking?" 

The  Prophet  grew  purple. 

"I  am — but  it  is  no  use.  Besides,  why  on  earth 
should  I  think  of  an  envelope  ?  I  beg  you  to  explain." 

"North,  sir,  the  northern  postal  district  of  the 
metropolis.  Fairly  simple  that — I  think,  sir." 

"N. !"  cried  the  illuminated  Prophet.  "I  see.  I  was 
thinking  of  en  all  the  time.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Please 
go  on.  N. — of  course !" 

Malkiel  concealed  a  smile,  just  sufficiently  to  make 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     55 

its  existence  for  an  instant  vitally  prominent,  and  con- 
tinued,— 

"By  the  Mouse  we  resolved  to  build  a  detached  resi- 
dence such  as  would  influence  suitably  the  minds  of 
the  children — should  we  have  any.  For  we  had  re- 
solved, sir,  by  that  time  that  with  me  the  Almanac 
should  cease." 

Here  Malkiel  leaned  forward  upon  the  deal  table 
and  lowered  his  voice  to  an  impressive  whisper. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  had  come  to  that.  We  all  have  our 
ambitions  and  that  was  mine." 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  the  Prophet;  "Malkiel's 
Almanac  cease!  But  why?  Such  a  very  useful  insti- 
tution !" 

"Useful!  More  than  that,  sir,  sublime!  There's 
nothing  like  it." 

"Then  why  let  it  cease?" 

"Because  the  social  status  of  the  prophet,  sir,  is  not 
agreeable  to  myself  or  Madame.  I've  had  enough  of 
it,  sir,  already,  and  I'm  barely  turned  of  fifty.  Besides, 
my  father  would  have  wished  it,  I  feel  sure,  had  he 
lived  in  these  days.  Had  he  seen  Sagittarius  Lodge, 
the  children,  and  how  Madame  comports  herself,  he 
would  have  recognised  that  the  family  was  destined  to 
rise  intp  a  higher  sphere  than  that  occupied  by  any 
prophet,  however  efficient.  Besides,  I  will  not  deceive 
you,  I  have  made  money.  In  another  ten  years'  time, 
when  I  have  laid  by  sufficient,  I  tell  you  straight,  sir, 
that  I  shall  go  out  of  prophecy,  right  out  of  it." 

"Then  your  Capricor — that  is  your  son — will  not 
carry  on  the — " 

"Capricornus  a  prophet,  sir!"  cried  Malkiel.     "Not 


56       The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

if  Madame  and  I  know  it.  No,  sir,  Capricornus  is  to 
be  an  architect." 

As  Malkiel  pronounced  the  last  words  he  flung  his 
black  overcoat  wide  open  with  an  ample  gesture,  thrust 
one  hand  into  his  breast,  and  assumed  the  fixed  and 
far-seeing  gaze  of  a  man  in  a  cabinet  photograph.  He 
seemed  lost  to  his  surroundings,  and  rapt  by  some 
great  vision  of  enchanted  architects,  busy  in  drawing 
plans  of  the  magic  buildings  of  the  future  ages.  The 
Prophet  felt  that  it  would  be  impious  to  disturb  him. 
Malkiel's  reverie  was  long,  and  indeed  the  two  proph- 
ets might  well  have  been  sitting  in  Jellybrand's  parlour 
now,  had  not  a  violent  sneeze  called  for  the  pink  assist- 
ance of  the  flight  of  storks,  and  brought  the  sneezer 
down  to  the  level  of  ordinary  humanity. 

"Yes,  sir — I  give  you  my  word  Capricornus  is  to  be 
an  architect,"  repeated  Malkiel.  "What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"Is  it — is  it  really  a  better  profession  than  that  of 
prophecy?"  asked  the  Prophet,  rather  nervously. 

Malkiel  smiled  mournfully. 

"Sir,  it  may  not  be  more  lucrative,  but  it  is  more 
select.  Madame  will  not  mix  with  prophets,  but  she 
has  a  'day,'  sir,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mouse,  and  she 
has  gathered  around  her  a  very  pleasant  and  select 
little  circle." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes,  sir.  Architects  and  their  wives.  You  under- 
stand?" 

"Quite,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  "quite." 

Under  the  mesmeric  influence  of  Malkiel  he  began 
to  feel  as  if  architects  were  some  strange  race  of 
sacred  beings  set  apart,  denizens  of  some  holy  isle  or 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse      57 

blessed  nook  of  mediaeval  legend.  Would  he  ever 
meet  them?  Would  he  ever  encounter  one  ranging 
unfettered  where  flowed  the  waters  of  the  River 
Mouse  ? 

"They  do  not  know  who  we  are,  sir,"  continued 
Malkiel,  furtively.  "To  them  and  to  the  whole  world 
— excepting  Jellybrand's  and  you — we  are  the  Sagitta- 
riuses  of  Sagittarius  Lodge,  people  at  ease,  sir,  living 
upon  our  competence  beside  the  Mouse.  They  do  not 
see  the  telescope,  sir,  in  the  locked  studio  at  the  top 
of  the  lodge.  They  do  not  know  why  sometimes,  on 
Madame's  'Wednesdays/  I  am  pale — with  sitting  up 
on  behalf  of  the  Almanac.  For  Capricornus's  sake  and 
for  Corona's  all  this  is  hid  from  the  world.  Madame 
and  I  are  the  victims  of  a  double  life.  Yes,  sir,  for  the 
children's  sake  we  have  never  dared  to  let  it  be  known 
what  I  really  am." 

Suddenly  he  began  to  grow  excited. 

"And  now,"  he  cried,  "after  all  these  years  of 
secrecy,  after  all  these  years  of  avoiding  the  central 
districts — in  which  Madame  longs  to  live — after  all 
these  years  of  seclusion  beyond  the  beat  even  of  the 
'buses,  do  you  come  here  to  me,  and  search  yourself 
and  say  upon  your  oath  that  a  prophet  can  live  and 
be  a  prophet  in  the  Berkeley  Square,  that  he  can  read 
the  stars  with  Gunter's  just  opposite,  ay,  and  bring 
out  an  almanac  if  he  likes  within  a  shilling  fare  of  the 
Circus?  If  this  is  so" — he  struck  the  deal  table  vio- 
lently with  his  clenched  fist — "of  what  use  are  the 
sacrifices  of  myself  and  Madame?  Of  what  use  is  it 
to  live  under  a  modest  name  such  as  Sagittarius, 
when  I  might  be  Malkiel  the  Second  to  the  whole 
world?  Of  what  use  to  flee  from  W.  and  dwell  per- 


58       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

petually  in  N.  ?  Why,  if  what  you  say  is  true,  we 
might  leave  the  Mouse  to-morrow  and  Madame  could 
pop  in  and  out  of  the  Stores  just  like  any  lady  of 
pleasure." 

At  the  thought  of  this  so  long  foregone  enchantment 
Malkiel's  emotion  completely  overcame  him,  his  voice 
died  away,  overborne  by  a  violent  fit  of  choking,  and 
he  sat  back  in  his  cane  chair  trembling  in  every  limb. 
The  Prophet  was  deeply  moved  by  his  emotion,  and 
longed  most  sincerely  to  assuage  it.  But  his  deep  and 
growing  conviction  of  his  own  power  rendered  him 
useless  as  a  comforter.  He  could  not  lie.  He  could 
not  deny  that  he  was  a  prophet.  He  could  only  say, 
in  his  firmest  voice, — 

"Malkiel  the  Second,  be  brave.  You  must  see  this 
thing  through." 

On  hearing  these  original  and  noble  words  Malkiel 
lifted  up  his  marred  countenance. 

"I  know  it,  sir,  I  know  it,"  he  answered.  "One 
moment.  The  thought  of  Madame — the  Stores — I 
— of  all  that  might  perhaps  have  been — " 

He  choked  again.  The  Prophet  looked  away.  A 
strong  man's  emotion  is  always  very  sacred  and  very 
terrible.  Three  minutes  swept  by,  then  the  Prophet 
heard  a  calm  and  hollow  voice  say, — 

"And  now,  sir,  to  business." 

The  Prophet  looked  up,  and  perceived  that  Malkiel's 
overcoat  was  tightly  buttoned  and  that  his  mouth  was 
tightly  set  in  an  expression  of  indomitable,  though 
tragic,  resolution. 

"What  business?"  asked  the  Prophet. 

"Mine,"  replied  Malkiel.     "Mine,   sir,  and  yours. 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse      59 

You  have  chosen  to  enter  my  life.  You  cannot  deny 
that.  You  cannot  deny  that  I  sought  to  avoid — I 
might  even  say  to  dodge  you." 

With  the  remembrance  of  the  recent  circus  perform- 
ance in  the  library  still  strong  upon  him  the  Prophet 
could  not.  He  bowed  his  head. 

"Very  well,  sir.  You  have  chosen  to  enter  my  life. 
That  act  has  given  me  the  right  to  enter  yours.  Am 
I  correct?" 

"I  suppose — I  mean — yes,  you  are,"  answered  the 
Prophet,  overwhelmed  by  the  pitiless  logic  of  his  com- 
panion, and  wondering  what  was  coming  next. 

"I  have  been  forced — I  think  I  may  say  that — to 
reveal  myself  to  you,  sir.  Nothing  can  ever  alter  that. 
Nothing  can  ever  take  from  you  the  knowledge—- 
denied by  Madame  to  the  very  architects — of  who  I 
really  am.  You  have  told  me,  sir,  that  I  must  see  this 
thing  through.  I  tell  you  now,  at  this  table,  in  this 
parlour,  that  I  intend  to  see  it  through — and  through." 

As  Malkiel  said  the  last  words  he  gazed  at  the 
Prophet  with  eyes  that  seemed  suddenly  to  have  taken 
on  the  peculiar  properties  of  the  gimlet.  The  Prophet 
began  to  feel  extremely  uneasy.  But  he  said  nothing. 
He  felt  that  there  was  more  to  come.  And  he  was 
right. 

"It  is  my  duty,"  continued  Malkiel,  in  a  louder  voice, 
"my  sacred  duty  to  Madame — to  say  nothing  of  Corona 
and  Capricornus — to  probe  you  to  the  core" — here  the 
Prophet  could  not  resist  a  startled  movement  of  pro- 
test— "and  to  search  you  to  the  quick." 

"Oh,  really !"  cried  the  Prophet. 

"This  duty  I  shall  carry  out  unflinchingly,"  pursued 


60       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Malkiel,  "at  whatever  cost  to  myself.  This  will  not 
be  our  last  interview.  Do  not  think  it." 

"I  assure  you,"  inserted  the  Prophet,  endeavouring 
vainly  to  seem  at  ease,  "I  do  not  wish  to  think  it." 

''It  matters  little  whether  you  wish  to  do  so  or  not," 
continued  Malkiel,  with  an  increasingly  Juggernaut 
air.  "The  son  of  Malkiel  the  First  is  not  a  man  to  be 
trifled  with  or  dodged.  Moreover,  much  more  than 
the  future  of  myself  and  family  depends  upon  what 
you  really  are.  From  this  day  forth  you  will  be  bound 
up  with  the  Almanac." 

"Merciful  Heavens !"  ejaculated  the  Prophet,  unable, 
intrepid  as  he  was,  to  avoid  recoiling  when  he  found 
himself  thus  suddenly  confronted  with  the  fate  of  an 
appendix. 

"For  why  should  it  ever  cease?"  proceeded  Malkiel, 
with  growing  passion.  "Why — if  a  prophet  can  live, 
as  you  declare,  freely  and  openly  in  the  Berkeley 
Square  ?  If  this  is  so,  why  should  I  not  remove,  along 
with  Madame  and  family,  from  the  borders  of  the 
Mouse  and  reside  henceforth  in  a  central  situation 
such  as  I  should  wish  to  reside  in?  Why  should  not 
Capricornus  eventually  succeed  me  in  the  Almanac  as 
I  succeeded  Malkiel  the  First  ?  Already  the  boy  shows 
the  leanings  of  a  prophet.  Hitherto  Madame  and  I 
have  endeavoured  to  stifle  them,  to  turn  them  in  an 
architectural  direction.  You  understand?" 

"I  am  trying  to,"  stammered  the  Prophet. 

"Hitherto  we  have  corrected  the  boy's  table  manners 
when  they  have  become  too  like  those  of  the  average 
prophet — as  they  often  have — for  hitherto  we  have 
had  reason  to  believe  that  all  prophets — with  the  ex- 
ception of  myself — were  dirty,  deceitful  and  essentially 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     6 1 

suburban  persons.  But  if  you  are  a  prophet  we  have 
been  deceived.  Trust  me,  sir,  I  shall  find  speedy 
means  to  pierce  you  to  the  very  marrow." 

The  Prophet  began  mechanically  to  feel  for  his  hat. 

"Are  you  desirous  of  anything,  sir?"  said  Malkiel, 
sharply. 

"No,"  said  the  Prophet,  wondering  whether  the 
moment  had  arrived  to  throw  off  all  further  pretence 
of  bravery  and  to  shout  boldly  for  the  assistance  of 
the  young  librarian. 

"Then  why  are  you  feeling  about,  sir?  Why  are 
you  feeling  about?" 

"Was  I  ?"  faltered  the  Prophet. 

"You  are  looking  for  another  glass  of  wine,  per- 
haps?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  Prophet,  desperately.  "For 
anything  but  that." 

But  Malkiel,  moved  by  some  abruptly  formed  resolu- 
tion, called  suddenly  in  a  powerful  voice, — 

"Frederick  Smith !" 

"Here,  Mr.  Sagittarius !"  cried  the  young  librarian, 
appearing  with  suspicious  celerity  upon  the  parlour 
threshold. 

"Draw  the  cork  of  the  second  bottle,  Frederick 
Smith,"  said  Malkiel,  impressively.  "This  gentleman 
is  about  to  take  the  pledge"— on  hearing  this  ironic 
paradox  the  Prophet  stood  up,  very  much  in  the  atti- 
tude formerly  assumed  by  Malkiel  when  about  to 
dodge  in  the  library — "that  I  shall  put  to  him,"  con- 
cluded Malkiel,  also  standing  up,  and  assuming  the 
library  posture  of  the  Prophet. 

Indeed  the  situation  of  the  library  seemed  about  to 
be  accurately  reversed  in  the  parlour  of  Jellybrand's. 


62       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

The  young  librarian  assisted  the  cork  to  emerge 
phlegmatically  from  the  neck  of  the  second  bottle  of 
champagne,  mechanically  smacking  his  lips  the  while. 

"Now  pour,  and  leave  us,  Frederick  Smith." 

The  young  librarian  helped  the  fatigued-looking 
wine  into  the  two  glasses,  where  it  lay  as  if  thoroughly 
exhausted  by  the  effort  of  getting  there,  and  then 
languidly  left  the  parlour,  turning  his  bulging  head 
over  his  shoulder  to  indulge  in  a  pathetic  ceillade  ere 
he  vanished. 

The  Prophet  watched  him  go. 

"Close  the  door,  Frederick  Smith,"  cried  Malkiel,  in 
a  meaning  manner. 

The  Prophet  blushed  a  guilty  red,  and  the  young 
librarian  obeyed  with  a  bang. 

"And  now,  sir,  I  must  request  you  to  take  a  solemn 
pledge  in  this  vintage,"  said  Malkiel,  placing  one  of 
the  tumblers  in  the  Prophet's  trembling  hand. 

"Really,"  said  the  Prophet,  "I  am  not  at  all  thirsty." 

"Why  should  you  be,  sir?  What  has  that  got  to  do 
with  it?"  retorted  Malkiel.  "Lift  your  glass,  sir." 

The  Prophet  obeyed. 

"And  now  take  this  pledge — that,  till  the  last  day — " 

"What  day?" 

"The  last  day,  sir,  you  will  reveal  to  no  living  person 
that  there  is  such  an  individual  as  Malkiel,  that  you 
have  ever  met  him,  who  he  is,  or  who  Madame  and 
family  are,  unless  I  give  the  word.  You  have  surprised 
my  secret.  You  have  forced  yourself  upon  me.  You 
owe  me  this.  Drink !" 

Mechanically  the  Prophet  drank. 

"Swear!" 


The  Secret  Waters  of  the  River  Mouse     63 

Mechanically — indeed  almost  like  a  British  working 
man — the  Prophet  swore. 

Malkiel  drained  his  tumbler,  and  drew  on  the  dog- 
skin glove  which,  in  the  agitation  of  a  previous  mo- 
ment, he  had  thrown  aside. 

"1  have  your  card,  sir,  here  is  mine.  I  shall  now 
take  the  train  to  the  River  Mouse,  on  whose  banks  I 
shall  confer  at  once  with  Madame.  Till  I  have  done 
this  I  cannot  tell  you  what  form  the  tests  I  shall  have 
to  apply  to  you  will  take.  When  I  have  done  it  you 
will  hear  from  me.  Your  servant,  sir." 

He  bowed  majestically,  and  was  turning  towards 
the  door  when  it  was  hastily  opened  and  a  lady  ap- 
peared frantically  in  the  aperture. 


CHAPTER   V 

MALKIEL  THE   SECOND  POISONS   MISS   MINERVA 

"Miss  MINERVA!"  exclaimed  Malkiel  the  Second. 

"Lady  Enid!"  cried  the  Prophet,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. 

"You  can't  go  in  there,  Miss  Partridge !"  ejaculated 
the  young  librarian,  simultaneously,  from  the  further 
room. 

The  lady,  a  tall  girl  of  twenty-two,  with  grey  eyes, 
dark  smooth  hair,  and  a  very  agreeable,  though  slightly 
Scottish,  mouth,  began  to  behave  rather  like  a  stag  at 
bay.  She  panted,  and  looked  wildly  round  as  if  medi- 
tating how,  and  in  what  direction,  she  could  best  bolt. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  the  Prophet,  his  voice 
becoming  not  a  little  piercing  from  surprise  and  his 
previous  stress  of  agitation. 

"You  can't  go  in  there,  Miss  Minerva,"  repeated  the 
young  librarian,  who  had  now  gained  the  parlour 
threshold,  and  who  seemed  about  to  take  up  a  very 
determined  stand  thereon. 

"I  must  go  in — I  must,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  mellow, 
but  again  slightly  Scottish,  voice.  "Don't  tell  anybody 
I'm  here,  or  you'll  be  sorry." 

And,  with  these  words,  she  bounded  into  the  parlour 
and  banged  the  door  on  the  young  librarian.  The 
Prophet  opened  his  lips  preparatory  to  a  third  wild 
exclamation. 

"Hush!"  the  lady  hissed  aristocratically. 


Malkiel  Poisons  Miss  Minerva       65 

She  shook  her  head  vigorously  at  him,  sank  down 
on  one  of  the  cane  chairs,  held  up  her  right  hand,  and 
leant  towards  the  door.  It  was  obvious  that  she  was 
listening  for  something  with  strained  attention,  and 
so  eloquent  was  her  attitude  that  the  two  prophets 
were  infected  with  her  desire.  They  turned  their  eyes 
mechanically  towards  the  deal  door  and  listened  too. 
For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then  a  heavy  foot- 
step resounded  upon  the  library  floor,  accompanied 
by  the  sharp  tap  of  a  walking  stick.  The  lady's  attitude 
became  more  tense  and  the  pupils  of  her  handsome 
grey  eyes  dilated. 

"Has  a  young  female  just  entered  this  shop?"  said 
a  very  heavy  and  rumbling  voice. 

"This  ain't  a  shop,  sir,"  replied  the  high  soprano  of 
the  young  librarian,  indignantly. 

"Bandy  no  words  with  me,  thou  infamous  malapert !" 
returned  the  first  voice.  "But  answer  my  question. 
Have  you  a  young  female  concealed  within  these 
loathsome  precincts?" 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  it  is  very  possible 
that  the  young  librarian  might  have  betrayed  the  lady 
as  he  had  already  betrayed  Malkiel  the  Second.  But  it 
happened  that  there  existed  upon  the  earth  one  object, 
and  one  object  only,  towards  which  he  felt  a  sense  of 
chivalry.  This  object  was  Jellybrand's  Library.  His 
reply  to  the  voice  was  therefore  as  follows,  and  was 
delivered  in  his  highest  key  and  with  extreme  volu- 
bility and  passion : — 

"Loathsome  precincts  yourself!  You're  a  nice  one, 
you  are,  chasing  respectable  ladies  about  at  your  age. 
There  ain't  no  young  females  in  the  library,  and  if 
there  was  I  shouldn't  trot  'em  out  for  you  to  clap  your 


66       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

ugly  old  eyes  on.  Now  then  out  yer  go.  No  more 
words  about  it.  Out  yer  go !" 

A  prolonged  sound  of  hard  breathing  and  of  feet 
scraping  violently  upon  bare  boards  followed  upon 
this  deliverance,  complicated  by  the  sharp  snap  of  a 
breaking  walking  stick,  the  thump  of  a  falling  chair, 
a  bang  as  of  a  heavy  body  encountering  firm  resistance 
from  some  inflexible  article  of  furniture — probably 
a  bookcase — and  finally  a  tremendous  thundering,  as 
of  the  hoofs  of  a  squadron  of  cavalry  charging  over 
a  parquet  floor,  the  crash  of  a  door,  the  grinding 
of  a  key  swiftly  turning  in  a  lock,  and — silence. 

The  lady,  Malkiel  the  Second  and  the  Prophet 
looked  at  one  another,  and  the  lady  opened  her  mouth. 

"D'you  think  he's  killed  him?"  she  whispered  with 
considerable  curiosity. 

There  came  a  distant  noise  of  a  torrent  of  knocks 
upon  a  door. 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  added  the  lady,  arranging  her  dress. 
"That's  a  good  thing." 

The  two  prophets  nodded.  The  torrent  of  knocks 
roared  louder,  slightly  failed  upon  the  ear,  made  a 
crescendo,  emulated  Niagara,  surpassed  that  very 
American  effort  of  nature,  wavered,  faltered  to  Lodore, 
died  away  to  a  feeble  tittup  like  water  dropping  from 
a  tap  to  flagstones,  rose  again  in  a  final  spurt  that 
would  have  made  Southey  open  his  dictionary  for  ad- 
jectives, and  drained  away  to  death. 

The  lady  leaned  back.  For  the  first  time  her  com- 
posure seemed  about  to  desert  her  entirely.  That  fatal 
sign  in  woman,  a  working  throat,  swallowing  nothing 
with  extreme  rapidity  and  persistence,  became  ap- 
parent. 


Malkiel   Poisons  Miss  Minerva       67 

"A  glass  of  wine,  Miss  Minerva!"  cried  Malkiel, 
gallantly. 

He  placed  a  tumbler  to  her  lips.  She  feebly  sipped, 
then  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  cry. 

"I'm  poisoned !" 

"You  never  spoke  a  truer  word,"  said  the  Prophet, 
solemnly. 

"What  is  it  ?"  continued  the  lady,  frantically.  "What 
has  he  given  me?" 

"Champagne  at  four  shillings  a  bottle  brought  fresh 
from  next  door  to  a  rabbit  shop,"  answered  the 
Prophet,  looking  at  Malkiel  with  almost  malignant 
satisfaction. 

The  lady,  who  had  gone  as  white  as  chalk,  darted 
to  the  door  and  flung  it  open. 

"A  glass  of  water !"  she  cried.  "Get  me  a  glass  of 
water." 

The  young  librarian  came  forward  with  a  black  eye. 

"It's  all  right,  ma'am.  The  gentleman's  gone,"  he 
piped. 

"What  gentleman?  Give  me  a  glass  of  water  or 
I  shall  die!" 

The  young  librarian,  who  had  already  an  injured 
air,  proceeded  from  a  positive  to  a  comparative  con- 
dition of  appearance. 

"Well,  I  never!  What  gentleman!"  he  exclaimed. 
"And  me  blue  and  black  all  over,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
bookcase  and  the  new  paint  that'll  be  wanted  for  the 
door!" 

"Can  you  chatter  about  trifles  at  such  a  moment?" 
cried  the  Prophet.  "Don't  you  see  the  lady's  been 
poisoned  ?" 

"What — by    the   old    gent?"    returned    the    young 


68     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

librarian.  "Then  what  does  she  come  to  a  library  for  ? 
Why  don't  she  go  to  a  chemist  ?" 

The  lady  turned  her  agonised  eyes  upon  the  Prophet. 

"Take  me  to  one,"  she  whispered  through  pale  lips. 

She  tottered  towards  him  and  leaned  upon  his  arm. 

"Trust  me,  trust  me,  I  will,"  said  the  Prophet. 
"Direct  me !"  he  added  to  the  young  librarian. 

"There's  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  rabbit  shop," 
said  that  worthy,  who  had  suddenly  become  exceed- 
ingly glum  in  manner  and  morose  in  appearance. 

"Thank  you.    Kindly  unlock  the  door." 

The  young  librarian  did  so,  lethargically,  and  the 
lady  and  the  Prophet  began  to  move  slowly  into  the 
street.  Just  as  they  were  gaining  it  Malkiel  the  Second 
cried  out, — 

"One  moment,  sir!" 

"Not  one,"  retorted  the  Prophet,  firmly.  "Not  one 
till  this  lady  has  had  an  antidote." 

He  walked  on  with  determination,  supporting  the 
lady.  But  ere  he  got  quite  out  of  earshot  he  caught 
these  fragments  of  a  shattered  speech,  hurtling  through 
the  symphony  of  London  noises: — 

"Banks  of  the  Mouse — Madame — sake  of  Capricor 
— be  sure  I — probe — quick — search — the  very  core — 
hear  from  me — architects — marrow — almanac — the 
last  day — the  Berkeley  Square — " 

The  final  ejaculation  melted  away  into  the  some- 
what powerful  discord  produced  by  the  impact  of  a 
brewer's  dray  with  a  runaway  omnibus  at  the  corner 
of  Greek  Street,  which  was  eventually  resolved  by  the 
bursting  of  a  motor  car — containing  two  bookmakers 
and  an  acting  manager — which  mingled  with  them  at 
the  rate  of  perhaps  forty  miles  an  hour. 


Malkiel  Poisons  Miss  Minerva       69 

"Yes,  please,  a  hansom,"  said  Lady  Enid  Thistle, 
some  five  minutes  later,  as  she  and  the  Prophet  stood 
together  upon  the  kerb  .in  front  of  the  rabbit  shop. 
"I  feel  much  better  now." 

The  Prophet  hailed  a  hansom  and  handed  her 
into  it. 

"Which  way  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

Lady  Enid  looked  doubtful. 

"I  ought  to  be  going  back  to  Jellybrand's,"  she  said. 
"I  had  an  appointment.  But  really — you  see  Mr. 
Sagittarius  is  there,  and  altogether — I  don't  know." 

She  was  obviously  still  upset  by  the  "creaming 
foam,"  and  the  other  incidents  of  the  afternoon. 

"Come  to  tea  with  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"She's  at  home?" 

"Yes.    She's  twisted  her  ankle." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry." 

"Let  me  escort  you." 

"Thanks.    I  think  I  will." 

"You  won't  mind  stopping  for  a  moment  at  Holl- 
ings's?"  said  the  Prophet,  in  Piccadilly  Circus.  "I 
promised  to  buy  some  roses.  Somebody  is  coming  in 
to  tea." 

"Oh,  no.    But  who- is  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  Only  one  person,  I  think.  An  old 
friend,  no  doubt.  Probably  the  Central  American 
Ambassador's  grandfather." 

"Oh,  if  that's  all !    I  feel  a  little  shaky  still." 

"Naturally." 

The  Prophet  bought  the  roses  and  they  drove  on. 

"It's  very  nice  of  you  not  to  ask  any  questions," 
observed  Lady  Enid,  presently. 


JQ     The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

The  Prophet  had  been  thinking  it  was,  but  he  only 
said, — 

"Oh,  not  at  all." 

"I'm  a  woman,"  pursued  Lady  Enid,  "and  I  don't 
know  whether  I  can  be  so  nice." 

The  Prophet  glanced  at  her  and  met  her  curious 
grey  eyes. 

"Try — please,"  he  replied  very  gently,  thinking  of 
the  oath  which  he  had  just  taken. 

Lady  Enid  was  silent  for  two  minutes,  then  she  re- 
marked,— 

"I  have  tried,  but  I  can't  succeed.  Why  on  earth 
were  you  closeted  in  the  parlour — at  my  time,  too — 
with  Mr.  Sagittarius  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Then  you  really  are  Miss  Minerva  Partridge?  And 
it  was  really  you  who  had — had — well,  'bespoke'  the 
parlour  at  half-past  three?" 

"Certainly.  Now  we  are  neither  of  us  nice,  but 
we're  both  of  us  human." 

"There  were  some  letters  for  you,"  said  the  Prophet. 

Lady  Enid  wrinkled  her  smooth,  young,  healthy- 
looking  forehead. 

"How  stupid  of  me!  I'll  fetch  them  to-morrow. 
Well?" 

She  looked  at  the  Prophet  with  obvious  expectation. 

"Well?"  she  repeated,  as  they  passed  the  Berkeley. 

"I'm  so  sorry  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  replied  with  gentle 
firmness. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  she  rejoined.  "But  now  I'm  at 
a  disadvantage.  You  know  I'm  Miss  Minerva." 

"Yes.  But  I  don't  know  why  you  are,  or  why  you 
go  to  Jellybrand's,  or  why  you  rushed  into  the  parlour, 
or  who  the  old  gentleman  was  that — " 


Malkiel   Poisons  Miss  Minerva       71 

The  cab  stopped  before  Mrs.  Merillia's  house. 

In  the  hall,  upon  an  oaken  bench,  they  perceived 
a  very  broad-brimmed  top  hat  standing  on  its  head. 
Beside  it  lay  two  pieces  of  a  stout  and  knobbly  walking 
stick  which  had  been  broken  in  half.  Lady  Enid 
started  violently. 

"Good  Heavens !"  she  cried. 

She  picked  up  the  walking  stick,  examined  it,  and 
laid  it  down. 

"I  don't  think  I  want  any  tea,"  she  murmured. 

"I'm  sure  you  do,"  said  the  Prophet,  with  some 
pressure. 

She  stood  still  for  a  moment.  Then,  catching  the 
attentive  round  eye  of  Gustavus,  who  was  waiting  by 
the  hall  door,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  walked 
towards  the  staircase. 

"It's  very  hard  lines,"  she  murmured  as  she  began 
to  ascend :  "all  the  questions  you  wanted  to  ask  are 
being  answered.  You  know  I'm  Miss  Minerva  already. 
In  another  minute  you'll  know  who  the  old  gentleman 
was  that — " 

The  Prophet  could  tell  from  the  expression  of  her 
straight,  slightly  Scottish,  back  that  she  was  pouting 
as  she  entered  the  drawing-room  where  Mrs.  Merillia 
was  having  tea  with — somebody. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   OLD   ASTRONOMER    DISCOURSETH    OF   THE    STARS 

NEVER  before  had  the  Prophet  felt  so  alive  with 
curiosity  as  he  did  when  he  followed  Lady  Enid  into 
Mrs.  Merillia's  presence,  for  he  knew  that  he  was 
about  to  see  the  venerable  victim  of  the  young  libra- 
rian's indignant  chivalry,  the  "old  gent"  who  had 
come  to  intimate  terms  with  Jellybrand's  bookcase,  and 
who  had  kicked  and  knocked  at  least  a  pint  of  paint 
off  Jellybrand's  door.  His  eyes  were  large  and  staring 
as  he  glanced  swiftly  from  his  grandmother's  sofa  to 
the  huge  telescope,  under  whose  very  shadow  was 
seated  no  less  a  personage  than  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  hold- 
ing a  cup  of  tea  in  one  hand  and  a  large-sized  muffin 
in  the  other. 

No  wonder  the  Prophet  jumped.  No  wonder  Mrs. 
Merillia  cried  out,  in  her  pretty,  clear  voice, — 

"Take  care  of  Beau,  Hennessey!  You're  treading 
on  him." 

The  dachshund's  pathetic  shriek  of  outrage  made 
the  rafters  ring.  Mrs.  Merillia  put  her  mittens  to  her 
ears,  and  Sir  Tiglath  dropped  his  muffin  into  a  jar  of 
pot-pourri. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Prophet,  earnestly. 
"Sir  Tiglath — this  is  indeed  a  stir — a  pleasure." 

Lady  Enid  was  being  embraced  by  Mrs.  Merillia. 
The  Prophet  extended  his  hand  to  the  astronomer, 
who,  however,  turned  his  back  to  the  company  and, 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       73 

diving  one  of  his  enormous  hands  into  the  pot-pourri 
jar,  began  to  rummage  violently  for  his  vanished  meal. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  Prophet,  who  had  not  seen 
the  muffin  go.  "Can  I  help  you?" 

Still  presenting  his  huge  back  and  the  purple  nape 
of  his  fat  neck  to  the  assemblage,  the  astronomer,  after 
trying  in  vain  to  extract  the  lost  dainty  in  a  legitimate 
manner,  turned  the  jar  upside  down,  and  poured  the 
rose-leaves  and  the  muffin  in  a  heterogeneous  libation 
upon  the  Chippendale  table.  After  a  close  examination 
of  it  he  turned  around,  holding  up  the  food  to  whose 
buttered  surface  several  leaves  adhered  in  a  disordered, 
but  determined,  manner. 

"Only  a  Persian  could  devour  this  muffin  now,"  he 
said,  in  his  rumbling,  sing-song  and  strangely  theatri- 
cal voice,  which  always  suggested  that  he  was  about 
to  deliver  a  couple  of  hundred  or  so  lengths  of  blank 
verse.  "Omar  beneath  his  tree  perchance,  or  Gurustu 
who  to  Baghdad  came  with  steed  a-foam  and  eyes 
a-flame.  Wherefore  do  you  trample  upon  hapless  ani- 
mals that  are  not  dumb,  young  man,  and  cause  the 
poor  -astronomer  to  cast  his  muffin  upon  the  roses, 
where,  mayhap,  the  housemaid  might  find  it  after 
many  days  ?  Oh-h-h-h  !" 

He  uttered  a  tremulous  bass  cry  of  mingled  reproach 
and  despair,  that  sounded  rather  like  the  wail  of  some 
deplorable  watchman  upon  a  city  wall,  shaking  his 
enormous  head  at  the  Prophet  the  while,  and  flapping 
his  red  hands  slowly  in  the  air. 

"How  d'you  do,  Sir  Tiglath?"  said  Lady  Enid, 
coming  up  to  him  with  light  carelessness. 

Sir  Tiglath  bowed. 

"Very  ill,  very  ill,"  he  rumbled,  looking  at  her  fur- 


74       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

lively  with  his  glassy  eyes.  "One  has  had  an  afternoon 
of  tragedy,  an  afternoon  of  brawling  and  of  disturb- 
ance, in  an  avenue  that  shall  henceforth  be  called 
accursed." 

He  sat  down  upon  his  armchair,  with  his  short  legs 
stuck  straight  out  and  resting  upon  his  heels  alone, 
his  hands  folded  across  his  stomach,  and  his  purple 
triple  chin  sunk  in  his  elaborate,  but  very  dusty,  cravat. 
Wagging  his  head  to  and  fro,  he  added,  with  the 
heavy,  concluding  tremolo  that  decorated  most  of  his 
vocal  efforts,  "Thrice  accursed.  Oh-h-h-h!" 

Lady  Enid,  who  seemed  to  have  quite  recovered  her 
self-possession,  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Merillia,  while  the 
Prophet,  in  some  confusion,  offered  to  his  grandmother 
the  bunch  of  roses  he  had  bought  at  Hollings's. 

"They're  a  little  late,  grannie,  I'm  afraid,"  he  said. 
"But  I  was  unavoidably  detained." 

Mrs.  Merillia  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"Detained,  Hennessey !  Then  you  found  what  yo.u 
were  seeking?" 

The  Prophet  remembered  his  oath  and  turned  scarlet. 

"No,  no,  grannie,"  he  murmured  hastily,  and  look- 
ing like  a  criminal.  "I  met  Lady  Enid,"  he  added. 

"Where  did  you  meet  the  lady,  young  man?"  said 
Sir  Tiglath.  "Was  it  in  the  accursed  avenue?" 

Lady  Enid  shot  a  hasty  glance  of  warning  at  the 
Prophet.  Mrs.  Merillia  intercepted  it,  and  began  to 
form  fresh  ideas  of  that  young  person,  whom  she  had 
formerly  called  sensible,  but  whom  she  now  began  to 
think  of  as  crafty. 

"Which  avenue  is  that,  Sir  Tiglath?"  asked  the 
Prophet,  with  a  rather  inadequate  assumption  of  inno- 
cence. ^ 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       75 

"The  avenue  in  which  one  beholds  perfidy  darting 
into  hidden  places,  young  man,  in  which  the  defenders 
of  foolish  virgins  are  buffeted  and  browbeaten  by 
counter-jumpers  with  craniums  as  big  as  the  great 
nebula  of  Orion.  The  avenue  named  after  a  crumbled 
philanthropist,  who  would  walk,  sheeted,  through  the 
atrocious  night  could  his  sacred  dust  awake  to  the 
abominations  that  are  perpetrated  under  the  protection 
of  his  shadow.  Let  dragons  lay  it  waste  like  the  high- 
ways of  Babylon." 

He  gathered  up  a  crumpet,  and  blinked  at  Lady 
Enid,  who  was  airily  sipping  her  tea  with  a  slightly 
detached  air  of  calm  and  maidenly  dignity. 

"I  think  Sir  Tiglath  must  be  describing  Shaftesbury 
Avenue,"  remarked  Mrs.  Merillia,  rather  mischiev- 
ously. 

"Oh,  really,"  stammered  the  Prophet,  "I  had  no  idea 
that  it  was  such  an  evil  neighbourhood." 

"Where  is  Shaftesbury  Avenue?"  asked  Lady  Enid, 
gently  folding  a  fragment  of  thin  bread  and  butter  and 
nibbling  it  with  her  pretty  mouth. 

Sir  Tiglath  elevated  his  hands  and  rolled  his  eyes. 

"Where  partridges  are  to  be  found  in  January, 
oh-h-h-h !"  was  his  very  unexpected  reply. 

The  Prophet  started  violently,  and  even  Lady  Enid 
looked  disconcerted  for  a  moment. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sir  Tiglath?"  she  said,  re- 
covering herself. 

She  turned  to  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"I  wonder  what  he  means,"  she  said.  "He  never 
talks  sensibly  unless  he  is  in  his  observatory,  or  lec- 
turing to  the  Royal  Society  on  the  'Regularity  of 
Heavenly  Bodies,'  or — " 


j6       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"The  irregularities  of  earthly  ones,",  interposed  Sir 
Tiglath.  "In  the  accursed  avenue — oh-h-h  !" 

"I  fear,  Sir  Tiglath,  you  must  be  a  member  of  the 
Vigilance  Society,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Yes.  He  looks  at  the  morals  of  the  stars  through 
his  telescope,"  said  Lady  Enid.  "By  the  way — do  you, 
too?"  she  added  to  the  Prophet,  for  the  first  time 
observing  the  instrument  in  the  bow  window. 

Mrs.  Merillia  and  Sir  Tiglath  exchanged  a  glance. 
An  earnest  expression  came  into  the  Prophet's  face. 

"I  confess,"  he  said,  with  becoming  modesty  in  the 
presence  of  the  great  master  of  modern  astronomy, 
"that  I  do  watch  the  heavens  from  that  window." 

"And  for  what  purpose,  young  man?"  rumbled  Sir 
Tiglath,  for  the  first  time  dropping  his  theatrical 
manner  of  an  old  barn-stormer,  and  speaking  like  any 
ordinary  fogey,  such  as  you  may  see  at  a  meeting  on 
behalf  of  the  North  Pole,  or  at  a  dinner  of  the  Odde 
Volumes. 

"For — for  purposes  of  research,  Sir  Tiglath," 
answered  the  Prophet,  with  some  diplomacy. 

"The  young  man  trieth  to  put  off  the  old  astronomer 
with  fair  words,"  bellowed  Sir  Tiglath.  "The  thief 
inserteth  his  thumb  into  the  tail  pocket  of  the  un- 
observant archbishop  for  purposes  of  research.  The 
young  man  playeth  merrily  forsooth  with  the  old 
astronomer." 

Mrs.  Merillia  nodded  her  lace  cap  at  him  encourag- 
ingly. It  was  evident  that  there  was  an  understanding 
between  them.  Lady  Enid  began  to  wonder  what  was 
its  nature.  The  Prophet  seemed  rather  disconcerted 
at  the  reception  given  to  his  not  wholly  artless  ambi- 
guity. 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       77 

"Grannie,"  he  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Merillia,  "you 
know  how  deeply  the  stars  interest  me." 

"For  their  own  sake,  young  man  ?"  said  Sir  Tiglath. 
"Or  as  the  accursed  avenue  interests  the  foolish  virgins 
— for  the  sake  of  frivolity,  idle  curiosity,  or  dark 
doings  which  could  not  support  the  light  even  of  a 
star  of  the  sixth  magnitude  ?  Can  you  tell  your  admi- 
rable and  revered  granddam  that?" 

This  time,  underneath  his  preposterous  manner  and 
fantastic  speech,  both  Lady  Enid  and  the  Prophet 
fancied  that  they  could  detect  an  element  of  real  grav- 
ity, even  perhaps  a  hint  of  weighty  censure  which 
made  them  both  feel  very  young — rising  two,  or 
thereabouts. 

"I  was  originally  led  to  study  the  stars,  Sir  Tiglath, 
because  I  had  the  honour  to  meet  you  and  make  your 
acquaintance,"  said  the  Prophet,  valiantly. 

The  astronomer  lapsed  at  once  into  his  first  manner. 

"In  what  fair  company  did  the  old  astronomer  con- 
verse with  the  young  man?"  he  cried.  "His  memory 
faileth  him.  He  doteth  and  cannot  recall  the  great 
occasion." 

"It  was  at  the  Colley  Gibber  Club,  Sir  Tiglath,"  said 
the  Prophet,  firmly.  "But  we — we  did  not  converse. 
You  had  a — a  slight  indisposition." 

"Would  you  venture  to  imply — in  the  presence  of 
your  notable  granddam — that  one  had  looked  upon 
the  wine  when  it  was  red,  young  man  ?" 

"You  had  a  glass  of  port  by  you  certainly,  Sir 
Tiglath.  But  you  had  also  a  cold  which,  you  gave  me 
to  understand — by  signs — had  affected  your  throat  and 
prevented  you  from  carrying  on  conversation. 

"Then  was  it  the  vision  of  the  old  astronomer's  per- 


78       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

sonal  and  starry  beauty  that  led  you,  hot  foot,  to  Venus 
through  yonder  telescope?    Oh-h-h!" 

•  "I  did  not  take  observations  of  Venus  first," 
answered  the  Prophet,  with  a  certain  proud  reserve. 
"I  began  by  an  examination  into  'The  Milky  Way.'  " 

Sir  Tiglath  impounded  another  crumpet. 

"Go  on,  young  man,"  he  cried.  "The  old  astronomer 
lendeth  ear." 

The  Prophet,  who  felt  very  much  like  a  nervous 
undergraduate  undergoing  a  -viva-voce  examination, 
continued, — 

"I  became  deeply  interested,  strongly  attracted  by 
the — the  heavenly  bodies.  They  fascinated  me.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else." 

Lady  Enid's  Scottish  lips  tightened  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. 

"I  could  talk  of  nothing  else,"  proceeded  the 
Prophet.  "Could  I,  grannie?" 

"No,  indeed,  Hennessey,"  assented  Mrs.  Merillia. 
"All  other  topics  were  banished  from  discussion." 

"All,"  cried  the  Prophet,  with  increasing  fervour 
and  lack  of  self-consciousness.  "I  could  not  tear 
myself  from  the  telescope.  I  longed  for  a  perpetual 
night  and  found  the  day  almost  intolerably  irksome." 

Sir  Tiglath's  brick-red  countenance  was  irradiated 
with  a  smile  that  did  not  lack  geniality. 

"The  old  astronomer  lendeth  attentive  ear  to  the 
young  man's  epic,"  he  roared,  through  the  crumpet. 
"He  approveth  the  young  man's  admiration  for  the 
heavenly  bodies.  Go  on." 

But  at  the  last  command  the  Prophet  seemed  sud- 
denly to  jib.  The  reserved  expression  returned  to  his 
face. 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       79 

"That's  all,  Sir  Tiglath,"  he  said. 

The  astronomer  and  Mrs.  Merillia  again  exchanged 
a  glance  which  was  not  unobserved  by  Lady  Enid. 
Then  Sir  Tiglath,  with  an  abrupt  and  portentous 
gravity,  exclaimed  in  thunderous  tones, — 

"Sir,  are  you  a  man  of  science  or  have  you  the  brain 
of  a  charlatan  enclosed  in  the  fleshly  envelope  of  a 
conjurer  and  a  sinner?  Do  you  study  the  noble  and 
beautiful  stars  for  their  own  sakes  to  find  out  what 
they  are,  and  what  they  are  doing,  what  is  their  nature 
and  what  their  place  in  the  great  scheme,  or  do  you 
peek  and  pry  at  them  through  the  keyhole  of  a  con- 
temptible curiosity  in  order  to  discover  what  you 
think  they  can  do  for  you,  to  set  you  on  high,  to  puff 
you  out  into  a  personage  and  cause  you  to  be  noticed 
of  the  foolish  ones  of  this  world  ?  Which  are  you,  sir, 
a  young  man  of  parts  whose  hand  I  can  grasp  frater- 
nally, or  an  insulter  of  planets,  sir,  a  Peeping  Tom 
upon  the  glorious  nudity  of  Venus,  a  Paul  Pry  squint- 
ing at  the  mysteries  of  Mercury  for  an  unholy  and, 
what  is  more,  an  idiotic  purpose?  What  do  you  ask 
of  the  stars,  sir?  Tell  the  old  astronomer  that!" 

The  Prophet  was  considerably  taken  aback  by  this 
tirade,  which  caused  the  many  ornaments  in  the  pretty 
room  to  tremble.  He  gazed  at  his  grandmother,  and 
found  her  nodding  approval  of  Sir  Tiglath.  He 
glanced  at  Lady  Enid.  She  was  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  and  looking  amused,  like  a  person  at  an  enter- 
tainment. 

"What  do  I  ask,  Sir  Tiglath?"  he  murmured  in 
some  confusion. 

"Do  you  ask  about  your  reverent  granddam's  hal- 
lowed ankles,  sir?  Do  you  afflict  the  stars  with 


80       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

inquiries  about  the  state  of  the  ridiculous  weather? 
Is  that  it?" 

The  Prophet  understood  that  Mrs.  Merillia  had  been 
frank  with  the  astronomer.  He  cast  upon  her  a  glance 
of  respectful  reproach. 

"Yes,  Hennessey,"  she  answered,  "I  have.  My 
dear  child,  I  thought  it  for  the  best.  This  prophetic 
business  would  soon  have  been  turning  the  house 
upside  down,  and  at  my  age  I'm  really  not  equal  to 
living  at  close  quarters  with  a  determined  young 
prophet.  To  do  so  would  upset  the  habits  of  a  life- 
time. So  Sir  Tiglath  knows  all  about  it." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  which  was  broken 
by  the  agreeable  voice  of  Lady  Enid  saying, — 

"All  about  what?  Remember,  please,  that  I'm  a 
young  woman  and  that  all  young  women  share  one 
quality.  All  about  what,  please?" 

Mrs.  Merillia  looked  at  the  Prophet.  The  Prophet 
looked  at  Sir  Tiglath,  who  wagged  his  great  head  and 
cried,  with  rolling  pathos  and  rebuke, — 

"Oh-h-h-h!" 

"Please — Mr.  Vivian!"  repeated  Lady  Enid,  with 
considerable  determination. 

"Grannie  means  that  I — that — well,  that  I  have  been 
enabled  by  the  stars  to  foretell  certain  future  events," 
said  the  Prophet,  glancing  rather  furtively  at  Sir 
Tiglath  while  he  spoke,  to  note  the  effect  of  the  des- 
perate declaration. 

"Oh-h-h-h!"  bellowed  the  distressed  astronomer, 
shaking  like  a  jelly  in  his  wrath. 

"What?"  cried  Lady  Enid,  in  an  almost  piercing 
voice,  and  with  a  manner  that  had  suddenly  become 


Astronomer  Discoursed!  of  Stars       8 1 

most     animated.      "What — like     Malkiel's     Almanac 
does?" 

This  remark  had  a  very  striking  effect  upon  Sir 
Tiglath,  an  effect  indeed  so  striking  that  it  held  Mrs. 
Merillia,  Lady  Enid  and  the  Prophet  in  a  condition  of 
paralytic  expectation  for  at  least  three  minutes  by  the 
grandmother's  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  drawing- 
room. 

The  venerable  astronomer  was  already  very  stout  in 
person  and  very  inflamed  in  appearance.  But  at  this 
point  in  the  discourse  he  suddenly  became  so  very 
much  stouter  and  so  very  much  more  inflamed,  that 
his  audience  of  three  gazed  upon  him  rather  as  little 
children  gaze  upon  dough  which  has  been  set  by  a 
cook  to  "rise"  and  which  is  fulfilling  its  mission  with 
an  unexpected,  and  indeed  intemperate,  vivacity.  Their 
eyes  grew  round,  their  features  rigid,  their  hands 
tense,  their  attitudes  expectant.  Leaning  forward, 
they  stared  upon  Sir  Tiglath  with  an  unwinking  fixity 
and  preternatural  determination  that  was  almost  en- 
tirely infantine.  And  while  they  did  so  he  continued 
slowly  to  expand  in  size  and  to  deepen  in  colour  until 
mortality  seemed  to  drop  from  him.  He  ceased  to  be 
a  man  and  became  a  phenomenon,  a  purple  thing  that 
journeyed  towards  some  unutterable  end,  portentous  as/ 
marching  judgment,  tragic  as  fate,  searching  as  epi- 
demic, and  yet  heavily  painted  and  generally  touched 
up  by  the  brush  of  some  humorous  demon,  such  as 
lays  about  him  in  preparation  for  Christmas  panto- 
mime, sworn  to  provide  the  giants'  faces  and  the  ogres' 
heads  for  Drury  Lane. 

"Don't!"  at  last  cried  a  young  voice.  "Don't,  Sir 
Tiglath  1" 


82       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

A  peal  of  laughter  followed  the  remark,  of  that 
laughter  which  is  loud  and  yet  entirely  without  the 
saving  grace  of  merriment,  a  mere  sudden  demonstra- 
tion of  hysteria. 

"Oh,  Sir  Tiglath— don't!" 

A  second  laugh  joined  the  first  and  rang  up  with 
it,  older  but  also  hysterical — Mrs.  Merillia's. 

"No,  no — please  don't,  Sir  Tig — Tig — " 

A  third  laugh  burst  into  the  ring,  seeming  to  com- 
plete it  fatally — the  Prophet's. 

"Sir  Tiglath — for  Heaven's  sake — don't !" 

The  adjuration  came  from  a  trio  of  choked  voices, 
and  might  have  given  pause  even  to  a  descending  lift 
or  other  inflexible  and  blind  machine. 

But  still  the  astronomer  grew  steadily  more  gigantic 
in  person  and  more  like  the  god  of  wine  in  hue.  The 
three  voices  failed,  and  the  terrible,  united  laughter 
was  just  upon  the  point  of  breaking  forth  again  when 
a  diversion  occurred.  The  door  of  the  drawing-room 
was  softly  opened,  and  Mrs.  Fancy  Quinglet  appeared 
upon  the  threshold,  holding  in  her  hands  an  ice-wool 
shawl  for  the  comfort  of  her  mistress.  It  chanced  that 
as  the  phenomenon  of  the  astronomer  was  based  upon 
a  large  elbow  chair  exactly  facing  the  door  she  was 
instantly  and  fully  confronted  by  it.  She  did  not  drop 
the  shawl,  as  any  ordinary  maid  would  most  probably 
have  done.  Mrs.  Fancy  was  not  of  that  kidney.  She 
did  not  even  turn  tail,  or  give  a  month's  warning  or 
a  scream.  She  was  of  those  women  who,  when  they 
meet  the  inevitable,  instinctively  seem  to  recognise  that 
it  demands  courage  as  a  manner  and  truth  as  a  greet- 
ing. She,  therefore,  stared  straight  at  Sir  Tiglath — 
much  as  she  stared  at  Mrs.  Merillia  when  she  was 


Astronomer  Discoursed!  of  Stars       83 

about  to  arrange  that  lady's  wig  for  an  assembly — and 
remarked  in  a  decisive,  though  very  respectful,  tone 
of  voice, — 

"The  gentleman's  about  to  burst,  ma'am.  I  can't 
speak  different  nor  mean  other." 

Upon  finding  their  thoughts  thus  deftly  gathered  up 
and  woven  into  a  moderately  grammatical  sentence, 
Mrs.  Merillia,  Lady  Enid  and  the  Prophet  experienced 
a  sense  of  extraordinary  relief,  and  no  longer  felt  the 
stern  necessity  of  laughing.  But  this  was  not  the 
miracle  worked  by  Mrs.  Fancy.  Had  she,  even  then, 
rested  satisfied  with  her  acumen,  maintained  silence 
and  awaited  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  her  predic- 
tion, what  must  have  happened  can  hardly  be  in  doubt. 
But  she  was  seized  by  that  excess  of  bravery  which  is 
called  foolhardiness,  and  driven  by  it  to  that  peculiar 
and  thoughtless  vehemence  of  action  which  sometimes 
wins  V.  C.'s  for  men  who,  in  later  days,  conceal  amaze- 
ment under  the  cherished  decoration.  She  suddenly 
laid  down  the  ice-wool  shawl  upon  a  neighbouring 
sociable,  walked  up  to  the  phenomenon  of  the  astrono- 
mer, and  remarked  to  it  with  great  distinctness, — 

"You're  about  to  burst,  sir.  I  know  it,  sir,  and  I 
can't  know  other." 

At  this  point  the  miracle  happened,  for,  instead  of 
responding  to  the  lady's-maid's  appeal,  and  promptly 
disintegrating  into  his  respective  atoms,  Sir  Tiglath 
suddenly  became  comparatively  small  and  compara- 
tively pale,  sat  forward,  wagged  his  head  at  Mrs. 
Fancy,  and  rumbled  out  in  his  ordinary  voice, — 

"Have  you  never  heard  where  liars  go  to,  woman? 
Oh-h-h-h !" 

On  finding  that  nothing  of  supreme  horror  was 


84       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

about  to  happen,  Mrs.  Fancy's  courage — as  is  the  way 
of  woman's  courage — forsook  her,  she  broke  into  tears, 
and  had  to  be  immediately  led  forth  to  the  servant's 
hall  by  the  Prophet,  exclaiming  persistently  with  every 
step  they  took, — 

"I  can't  help  it,  Master  Hennessey.  I  say  again  as 
I  said  afore — the  gentleman's  about  to  burst.  Them 
that  knows  other  let  them  declare  it." 

"Yes,  yes.  It's  all  right,  Fancy,  it's  all  right.  We 
all  agree  with  you.  Now,  now,  you  mustn't  cry." 

"I  can't — know — other,  Master  Hennessey,  nor — 
mean  different.  I  can't  indeed,  Master  Hennessey. 
I  can't — know  other — nor — " 

"No,  no.  Of  course  not.  There,  sit  down  and  com- 
pose yourself." 

He  gave  the  poor,  afflicted  liar  tenderly  into  the  care 
of  the  upper  housemaid,  and  retraced  his  steps  quickly 
to  the  drawing-room.  As  he  entered  it  he  heard  Sir 
Tiglath  saying, — 

"The  stars  in  their  courses  tremble  when  the  ac- 
cursed name  of  Malkiel  is  mentioned,  and  the  old 
astronomer  is  dissolved  in  wrath  at  sound  of  the 
pernicious  word.  Oh-h-h-h!" 

"There,  Hennessey!"  cried  Mrs.  Merillia,  turning 
swiftly  to  her  grandson  with  all  her  cap  ribands  flutter- 
ing. "You  hear  what  Sir  Tiglath  says  ?" 

"If  that  accursed  name  belonged  to  an  individual," 
continued  the  astronomer,  waving  his  hands  franti- 
cally over  the  last  remaining  crumpet,  "instead  of 
representing  a  syndicate  of  ruffianly  underground 
criminals,  the  old  astronomer,  well  stricken  in  years 
though  he  be,  would  hunt  him  out  of  his  hiding-place 
and  slay  him  with  his  own  feeble  and  scientific  hands." 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       85 

So  saying,  he  grasped  the  crumpet  as  if  it  had  been 
an  assegai,  and  assailed  himself  with  it  so  violently 
that  it  entirely  disappeared. 

"But  Malkiel  is  an — "  began  Mrs.  Merillia. 

The  Prophet  stopped  her  with  a  glance,  whose 
almost  terror-stricken  authority  surprised  her  into 
silence. 

"But  I  thought  Malkiel  was  a  man,"  cried  Lady 
Enid,  looking  towards  the  Prophet. 

"He — for  I  will  not  foul  my  lips  with  the  accursed 
name — is  not  a  man,"  roared  Sir  Tiglath.  "He  is 
a  syndicate.  •  He  is  a  company.  He  meets  together, 
doubtless,  in  some  low  den  of  the  city.  He  reads  re- 
ports to  himself  of  the  ill-gotten  gains  accruing  from 
his  repeated  insults  to  the  heavens  round  some  abomi- 
nable table  covered  with  green  cloth.  He  quotes  the 
prices  of  the  shares  in  him,  and  declares  dividends, 
and  carries  balances  forward,  and  some  day  will  wind 
himself  up  or  cast  himself  anew  upon  the  mercy  of  the 
market.  Part  of  him  is  probably  Jew,  part  South 
African  and  part  American.  The  whole  of  him  is 
thrice  accursed." 

He  began  to  expand  once  more,  but  Mrs.  Merillia 
perceived  the  tendency  and  checked  it  in  time. 

"Pray,  Sir  Tiglath,"  she  said  almost  severely,  "don't. 
With  my  sprained  ankle  I  am  really  not  equal  to  it." 

Sir  Tiglath  had  enough  chivalry  to  stop,  and  Lady 
Enid  once  again  chipped  in. 

"But,  really,  I'm  almost  sure  Malkiel  is  a — " 

She  caught  the  Prophet's  eye,  as  Mrs.  Merillia  had, 
and  paused.  He  turned  to  the  astronomer. 

"But  how  can  a  company  make  itself  into  a  prophet?" 
he  asked. 


86     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Young  man,  you  talk  idly!  What  are  companies 
formed  for  if  not  to  make  profits?"  retorted  Sir 
Tiglath.  "Every  one  is  a  company  nowadays.  Don't 
you  know  that?  Murchison,  the  famous  writer  of 
novels,  is  a  company.  Jeremy,  the  actor-manager,  is 
a  company.  So  is  Bynion  the  quack  doctor,  and  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Kinnimer  who  supplies  tracts  to  the  upper 
classes,  and  Upton  the  artist,  whose  pictures  make 
tours  like  Sarah  Bernhardt,  and  Watkins,  whose 
philosophy  sells  more  than  Tupper's,  and  Caroline 
Jingo,  who  writes  war  poems  and  patriotic  odes.  If 
you  were  to  invite  these  supposed  seven  persons  to 
dinner,  and  all  of  them  came,  you  would  have  to  lay 
covers  for  at  least  fifty  scoundrels.  Oh-h-h-h!" 

"Well,  but  how  are  you  sure  that — ahem — the 
'Almanac  person  is  also  plural,  Sir  Tiglath?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Because  I  sought  him  with  the  firm  intention  of 
assault  and  battery  for  five-and-forty  years,"  returned 
the  astronomer.  "And  only  gave  up  my  Christian 
quest  when  I  was  assured,  on  excellent  authority,  that 
he  was  a  company,  and  had  originally  been  formed  in 
the  United  States  for  the  making  of  money  and  the 
defiance  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  May  bulls  and  bears 
destroy  him!" 

"Well,  it's  very  odd,"  said  Lady  Enid.  "Very  odd 
indeed. 

As  she  spoke  she  glanced  at  the  Prophet  and  met 
his  eyes.  There  are  moments  when  the  mere  expres- 
sion in  another  person's  eyes  seems  to  shout  a  request 
at  one.  The  expression  in  the  Prophet's  eyes  per- 
formed this  feat  at  this  moment,  with  such  abrupt 
,  vehemence,  that  Lady  Enid  felt  almost  deafened.  She 


Astronomer  Discoursed!  of  Stars       87 

leaned  back  in  her  chair,  as  if  avoiding  a  missile,  and 
exclaimed, — 

"Of  course !    And  I  never  guessed  it !" 

"Guessed  what,  my  dear?"  inquired  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Why,  that — that  he — it — was  a  company,"  replied 
Lady  Enid. 

The  Prophet  blessed  and  thanked  her  with  a  pierc- 
ing and  saved  look. 

"Nor  I,"  he  assented,  descending  into  the  very  mine 
of  subterfuge  for  his  recent  oath's  sake,  "nor  I,  or  I 
should  never  have  taken  the  useless  trouble  that  I  have 
taken." 

He  managed  to  say  this  with  such  conviction  that 
his  grandmother,  who,  in  the  past,  had  always  found 
him  to  be  transparently  honest  and  sincere,  was  car- 
ried away  by  the  deception.  She  wrinkled  her  long 
nose,  as  was  her  habit  when  sincerely  pleased,  and 
cried  gaily, — 

"Then,  Hennessey,  now  you've  heard  Sir  Tiglath's 
opinion  of  the  practice  of  trying  to  turn  the  stars  into 
money-makers,  and  the  planets  into  old  gipsy  women 
who'  tell  fortunes  to  silly  servant  girls,  I'm  sure  you'll 
never  study  them  again.  Come,  promise  me !" 

The  Prophet  made  no  answer. 

"Hennessey,"  cried  his  grandmother,  with  tender 
pertinacity,  "promise  me !  Sir  Tiglath,  join  your  voice 
to  mine !" 

Sir  Tiglath  had  become  really  grave,  not  theatrically 
serious. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "your  revered  granddam 
asks  of  you  a  righteous  thing.  Who  are  you  to  trifle 
with  those  shining  worlds  that  make  the  beauty  of  the 
night  and  that  stir  eternity  in  the  soul  of  man?  Who 


88     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

are  you  to  glue  your  pinpoint  of  a  human  eye  to  yonder 
machine  and  play  with  the  stupendous  Jupiter  and 
Saturn  as  a  child  plays  with  marbles  or  with  peg-tops  ? 
Who  are  you  that  thinks  those  glittering  monsters 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  inform  your  pigmy  brain  of 
snowfalls,  street  accidents  and  love-affairs  prema- 
turely, so  that  you  may  flaunt  about  your  pocket- 
handkerchief  of  a  square  pluming  your  dwarfship  that 
you  are  a  prophet?  Fie,  young  man,  and  again  fie! 
Bow  the  knee,  as  I  do,  to  the  mysteries  of  the  great, 
universal  scheme,  instead  of  bothering  them  to  turn 
informers  and  "give  away"  the  knowledge  which  is 
deliberately  hidden  from  us.  Show  me  a  man  that  can 
understand  the  present  and  you'll  have  shown  me  a 
god.  And  yet  you  knock  at  the  gates  of  the  heavens 
through  that  telescope  and  clamour  to  be  told  the 
future !  Fie  upon  you,  young  man,  fie !  Oh-h-h-h !" 

Now  the  Prophet,  as  has  been  before  observed,  pos- 
sessed a  very  sensitive  nature.  He  was  also  very 
devoted  to  his  grandmother,  and  had  an  extraordinary 
reverence  for  the  world-famed  attainments  of  Sir 
Tiglath  Butt.  Therefore,  when  he  heard  Mrs.  Merillia's 
pleading,  and  the  astronomer's  weighty  denunciation, 
he  was  deeply  moved.  Nevertheless,  so  strongly  had 
recent  events  appealed  to  his  curiosity,  so  ardently 
did  he  desire  to  search  into  the  reality  of  his  own  pecul- 
iar powers,  that  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  he  might 
not  have  withstood  both  the  behests  of  affection  and 
of  admiration  had  it  not  been  that  they  took  to  them- 
selves an  ally,  whose  force  is  one  of  the  moving  spirits 
of  the  world.  This  ally  was  fear.  Just  as  the  Prophet 
was  beginning  to  feel  obstinate  and  to  steel  himself  to 
resistance,  he  remembered  the  fierce  and  horrible 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       89 

threats  of  Malkiel  the  Second.  If  he  should  cease  to 
concern  himself  with  the  stars,  if  he  should  cease  to 
prophesy,  not  alone  should  he  restore  peace  to  his  be- 
loved grandmother,  and  pay  the  tribute  of  respect  to 
Sir  Tiglath,  but  he  should  do  more.  He  should  pre- 
serve his  quick  from  being  searched  and  his  core  from 
being  probed.  His  marrow,  too,  would  be  rescued 
from  the  piercing  it  had  been  so  devoutly  promised. 
The  dread,  by  which  he  was  now  companioned — of 
Malkiel,  of  that  portentous  and  unseen  lady  who  dwelt 
beside  the  secret  waters  of  the  Mouse,  of  those  imag- 
ined offshoots  of  the  prophetic  tree,  Corona  and  Capri- 
cornus — this  would  drop  away.  He  would  be  free 
once  more,  light-hearted,  a  happy  and  mildly  intellec- 
tual man  of  the  town,  emerged  from  the  thrall  of 
bogies,  and  from  beneath  the  yoke  which  he  already 
felt  laid  upon  his  shoulders  by  those  august  creatures 
who  were  the  centre  of  the  architectural  circle. 

All  these  things  suddenly  presented  themselves  to 
the  Prophet's  mind  with  extraordinary  vividness  and 
force.  His  resolve  was  taken  in  a  moment,  and,  turning 
to  his  eager  grandmother  and  to  the  still  slightly  in- 
flated astronomer,  he  exclaimed  without  further  hesita- 
tion,— 

"Very  well.    I'll  give  it  up.    I  promise  you." 

Mrs.  Merillia  clapped  her  mittens  together  almost 
like  a  girl. 

"Thank  you,  Sir  Tiglath,"  she  cried.  "I  knew  you 
would  persuade  the  dear  boy." 

The  astronomer  beamed  like  the  rising  sun. 

"Let  the  morning  stars — freed  from  insult — sing 
together!"  he  roared. 

The  Prophet  glanced  towards  Lady  Enid.    She  was 


90       The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

looking  almost  narrow  and  not  at  all  pleased.  She, 
and  all  her  family,  had  a  habit  of  suddenly  appearing 
thinner  than  usual  when  they  were  put  out.  This  habit 
had  descended  to  them  from  a  remote  Highland  ances- 
tor, who  had  perished  of  starvation  and  been  very 
vexed  about  it.  The  Prophet  felt  sure  that  she  did  not 
applaud  his  resolution,  but  he  could  not  discuss  the 
matter  with  her  in  public,  and  she  now  got  up — looking 
almost  like  a  skeleton — and  said  that  she  must  go.  Sir 
Tiglath  immediately  rolled  up  out  of  his  chair  and 
roared  that  he  would  accompany  her. 

"The  old  astronomer  will  protect  the  injudicious 
young  female,"  he  exclaimed,  "lest  she  wander  forth 
into  accursed  places." 

"I'm  only  going  to  Hill  Street,"  said  Lady  Enid, 
rather  snappishly.  "Come  to  see  me  to-morrow  at 
three,"  she  whispered  to  the  Prophet  as  she  took  his 
hand.  "We  must  have  a  talk.  Don't  tell  anybody!" 

The  Prophet  nodded  surreptitiously.  He  felt  that 
she  was  curious  to  her  finger-tips  as  he  gently  pressed 
them. 

When  he  and  his  grandmother  were  alone  together 
he  rang  the  drawing-room  bell.  Mr.  Ferdinand  ap- 
peared. 

"Mr.  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Prophet,  "kindly  call 
Gustavus  to  your  aid  and  take  away  the  telescope." 

"Sir!"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand  in  great  astonishment. 

"Take  away  the  telescope." 

"Certainly,  sir.    Where  shall  we  place  it,  sir?" 

"Anywhere,"  said  the  Prophet.  "In  the  pantry — the 
square — in  Piccadilly  if  you  like — It's  all  the  same 
to  me." 


Astronomer  Discourseth  of  Stars       91 

And,  unable  to  trust  himself  to  say  more,  he  hurried 
almost  tumultuously  from  the  room. 

"Here's  a  go,  Gustavus,"  remarked  Mr.  Ferdinand 
a  moment  later  as  he  entered  the  servants'  hall. 

"Where,  Mr.  Ferdinand?"  replied  Gustavus,  glanc- 
ing up  from  a  dish  of  tea  and  a  couple  of  Worthing 
shrimps  with  which  he  was  solacing  an  idle  moment. 

"Here,  in  this  mansion,  Gustavus.  Me  and  you've 
got  to  take  the  telescope  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and 
Master  Hennessey  says  if  we  wish  we  can  chuck  it  in 
Piccadilly." 

The  round  eyes  of  Gustavus  brightened. 

"That  is  my  wish,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Here's  a  lark!" 

He  sprang  up.  But  Mr.  Ferdinand  checked  his 
very  agreeable  vivacity. 

"I  am  your  head,  Gustavus,"  he  remarked,  with 
severe  ambiguity,  "and  master  having  also  said  that, 
if  we  wish,  we  can  set  the  instrument  in  the  butler's 
pantry,  I  have  decided  that  so  it  shall  moreover  be. 
It  will  be  very  useful  to  us  there." 

'.'Useful,  Mr.  Ferdinand!    However — ?" 

"Never  mind,  Gustavus,  never  mind,"  replied  Mr. 
Ferdinand  with  some  acrimony. 

Being  of  a  dignified  nature  he  did  not  care  to  explain 
to  a  subordinate  that  there  was  a  very  pleasant-looking 
second-cook  just  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  Lord 
Chancellor  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  square. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DOUBLE  LIFE  OF  MISS  MINERVA 

ON  the  following  day,  just  as  the  Prophet  was 
drawing  on  a  new  pair  of  suede  gloves  preparatory  to 
setting  out  to  Hill  Street,  Gustavus  entered  with  a 
silver  salver. 

"A  telegram  for  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  Prophet  took  the  blushing  envelope,  ripped  it 
gently  open,  and  read  as  follows : — 

"Madame  and  self  must  confer  with  you  this  after- 
noon without  fail.  Shall  be  with  you  five  sharp ;  most 
important.  JUPITER  SAGITTARIUS." 

Gustavus  nearly  dropped  at  sight  of  the  wrinkles 
that  seamed  the  Prophet's  usually  smooth  face  as  he 
grasped  the  full  meaning  of  this  portentous  missive. 

"Any  answer,  sir?" 

The  wrinkles  increased  and  multiplied. 

"Any  reply,  sir?" 

"What— no." 

Gustavus  glided  in  a  well-trained  manner  towards 
the  door.  When  he  got  there  the  Prophet  cried,  rather 
sharply, — 

"Stop  a  moment !" 

Gustavus  stopped. 

"Sir?" 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva     93 

"The — I — er — I  am  expecting  a — a — couple  this 
afternoon,"  began  the  Prophet,  speaking  with  consider- 
able hesitation,  and  still  gazing,  in  a  hypnotised  man- 
ner, at  the  telegram. 

"A  couple,  sir?" 

"Exactly.    A  pair." 

"A  pair,  sir?    Of  horses,  sir?" 

"Horses !    No — of  people,  that  is,  persons." 

"A  pair  of  persons,  sir.    Yes,  sir." 

"They  should  arrive  towards  five  o'clock." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"If  I  should  not  be  home  by  that  time  you  will  show 
them  very  quietly  into  my  library — not  the  drawing- 
room.  Mrs.  Merillia  it  not  at  present  equal  to  receiving 
ordinary  guests." 

The  Prophet  meant  extraordinary,  but  he  preferred 
to  put  it  the  other  way. 

"Yes,  sir.    What  name,  sir?" 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.—that  is,  Madame  Sagittarius.  That 
will  do." 

Gustavus  hastened  to  the  servants'  hall  to  discuss 
the. situation,  while  the  Prophet  stood  re-reading  the 
telegram  with  an  expression  of  shattered  dismay.  Not 
for  at  least  five  minutes  did  he  recover  himself  suffi- 
ciently to  remember  his  appointment  with  Lady  Enid, 
and,  when  at  length  he  set  forth  to  Hill  Street,  he  was 
so  painfully  preoccupied  that  he  walked  three  times 
completely  round  the  square  before  he  discovered  the 
outlet  into  that  fashionable  thoroughfare. 

When  he  reached  the  dark  green  mansion  of  Lady 
Enid's  worthy  father,  the  Marquis  of  Glome,  and  had 
applied  the  bronze  demon  that  served  as  a  knocker 
four  separate  times  to  the  door,  he  was  still  so  lost  in 


94       The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

thought  that  he  started  violently  on  the  appearance 
of  the  Scotch  retainer  at  the  portal,  and  behaved  for 
a  moment  as  if  he  were  considering  which  of  two 
courses  he  should  pursue:  i.e.,  whether  he  should 
clamber  frantically  into  the  seclusion  of  the  area,  or 
take  boldly  to  the  open  street.  Before  he  could  do 
either  M'Allister,  the  retainer,  had  magnetised  him 
into  the  hall,  relieved  him  of  his  hat — almost  with  the 
seductive  adroitness  of  a  Drury  Lane  thief — and 
drawn  him  down  a  tartan  passage  into  a  very  sensible- 
looking  boudoir,  in  which  Lady  Enid  was  sitting  by 
a  wood  fire  with  a  very  tall  and  lusty  young  man. 

"Mr.  Hennessey  Vivian !" 

"What,  Bob — you  here!"  said  the  Prophet  to  the 
lusty  young  man,  after  shaking  hands  a  little  dis- 
tractedly with  Lady  Enid. 

"Yes,  old  chap.  But  I'm  just  off.  I  know  you  two 
want  to  have  a  confab,"  returned  Mr.  Robert  Green, 
wringing  his  old  school  friend's  hand.  "Niddy's  given 
me  the  chuck.  And  anyhow  I'm  bound  to  look  in  at 
the  Bath  Club  at  four  to  fence  with  Chicky  Bostock." 

Mr.  Green  spoke  in  a  powerful  baritone  voice,  roll- 
ing his  r's,  and  showing  his  large  and  square  white 
teeth  in  a  perpetual  cheery  and  even  boisterous  smile. 
He  was  what  is  called  a  thorough  good  fellow,  springy 
in  body  and  essentially  gay  in  soul.  That  he  was  of 
a  slightly  belated  temperament  will  be  readily  under- 
stood when  we  say  that  he  was  at  this  time  just  begin- 
ning to  whistle,  with  fair  correctness,  "Ta-ra-ra-boom- 
de-ay,"  to  discuss  the  character  of  Becky  Sharp,  to 
dwell  upon  the  remarkable  promise  as  a  vocalist  shown 
by  Madame  Adelina  Patti,  and  to  wonder  at  the 
marvellous  results  said  to  be  accomplished  by  the  tele- 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva     95 

phone.  He  had  also  never  heard  of  Christian  Science, 
and  was  totally  unaware  that  there  exists  in  the 
metropolis  a  modest  and  retiring  building  called  "The 
Imperial  Institute."  Nevertheless,  he  was  repeatedly 
spoken  of  by  substantial  people  as  a  young  man  of 
many  parts,  was  a  leading  spirit  in  Yeomanry  circles, 
and  was  greatly  regarded  by  the  Prophet  as  a  trusty 
friend  and  stalwart  upholder  of  the  British  Empire. 
He  had  rather  the  appearance  of  a  bulwark,  and  some- 
thing of  the  demeanour  of  a  flourishing  young  oak 
tree. 

"Yes,  Bob,  you've  got  to  go,"  assented  Lady  Enid, 
examining  the  Prophet's  slightly  distorted  countenance 
with  frank,  and  even  eager,  curiosity.  "Mr.  Vivian 
and  I  are  going  to  talk  of  modern  things." 

"I  know,  Thackeray  and  Patti,  and  three-volume 
novels,  and  skirt  dancing,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,"  said 
Mr.  Green,  with  unaffected  reverence.  "Well,  I'm  off. 
I  say,  Hen,  pop  in  at  the  Bath  on  your  way  home  and 
have  a  whiskey  and  soda.  I  shall  just  be  out  of  the  hot 
room  and — " 

"I'm  sorry,  Bob,"  said  the  Prophet  with  almost 
terrible  solemnity,  "that  I  can't,  that — in  fact — I  am 
unable." 

"What?    Going  to  the  dentist?" 

"Exactly — that  is,  not  at  all." 

"Well,  what's  up?  Some  intellectual  business,  lec- 
ture on  Walter  Scott,  or  Dickens,  or  one  of  the  other 
Johnnies  that  are  so  popular  just  now?" 

"No.  I  have  a — a  small  gathering  at  home  this 
afternoon." 

"All  right.  Then  I'll  pop  round  on  you — say  five 
o'clock." 


96       The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

"No,  Bob,  no,  I  can't  say  that.  I'm  very  sorry,  but 
I  can't  possibly  say  that." 

"Right  you  are.  Too  clever  for  me,  I  s'pose.  Look 
me  up  at  the  Tintack  to-night  then — any  time  after 
ten." 

"If  I  can,  Bob,  I  will,"  replied  the  Prophet,  with 
impressive  uncertainty.  "I  say  if  I  can  I  will  do  so." 

"Done!  If  you  can't,  then  I'm  not  to  expect  you. 
That  it?" 

"That  is  it — precisely." 

"Good-bye,  Niddy,  old  girl.  Keep  you  pecker  up. 
By  the  way,  if  you  want  a  real  good  tune  for  a  Charity 
sing-song,  a  real  rouser,  you  try  'Nancy  Lee.' " 

He  was  gone,  humming  vigorously  that  new-fangled 
favourite. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Vivian,"  said  Lady  Enid,  looking 
her  right  size.  "We've  got  a  lot  to  say  to  one  another." 

"I  have  to  be  home  at  five,"  replied  the  Prophet, 
abstractedly. 

Lady  Enid  began  to  appear  a  trifle  thin. 

"Why?  How  tiresome!  I  didn't  think  you  really 
meant  it." 

"It  is  very,  very  tiresome." 

He  spoke  with  marked  uneasiness,  and  remained 
standing  with  the  air  of  one  in  readiness  for  the  punc- 
tual call  of  the  hangman. 

"What  is  it?"  continued  Lady  Enid,  with  her  usual 
inquisitiveness. 

"I  have,  as  I  said,  a — a  small  gathering  at  home  at 
that  hour,"  said  the  Prophet,  repeating  his  formula 
morosely. 

"A  gathering — what  of?" 

"People — persons,  that  is." 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva     97 

"What— a  party?" 

"Two  parties,"  replied  the  Prophet,  instinctively 
giving  Mr.  Sagittarius  and  Madame  their  undoubted 
due.  "Two." 

"Two  parties  at  the  same  time — and  in  the  after- 
noon !  How  very  odd !" 

"They  will  look  very  odd,  very — in  Berkeley  Square," 
responded  the  Prophet,  in  a  tone  of  considerable  dejec- 
tion. "I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what  Mr.  Ferdinand 
and  Gustavus  will  think.  Still  I've  given  strict  orders 
that  they're  to  be  let  in.  What  else  could  I  do?" 

He  gazed  at  Lady  Enid  in  a  demanding  manner. 

"What  else  could  I  possibly  do  under  the  circum- 
stances?" he  repeated. 

"Sit  down,  dear  Mr.  Vivian,"  she  answered,  with 
her  peculiar  Scotch  lassie  seductiveness,  "and  tell  me, 
your  sincere  friend,  what  the  circumstances  are." 

Unluckily  her  curiosity  had  led  her  to  overdo  per- 
suasion. That  cooing  interpolation  of  "  your  sincere 
friend" — too  strangely  honeyed — suddenly  recalled  the 
Prophet  to  the  fact  that  Lady  Enid  was  not,  and  could 
never  be,  his  confidante  in  the  matter  that  obsessed 
him.  He  therefore  sat  down,  but  with  an  abrupt  air 
of  indefinite  social  liveliness,  and  exclaimed,  not  unlike 
Mr.  Robert  Green, — 

"Well,  and  how  are  things  going  with  you,  dear 
Lady  Enid?" 

She  jumped  under  the  transition  as  under  a  whip. 

"Me !  But — these  parties  you  were  telling  me 
about?" 

But  the  Prophet  remembered  his  oath.  He  was 
a  strictly  honourable  little  man,  and  never  swore  care- 
lessly. 


98       The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

"Parties !"  he  said.  "You  and  I  are  too  old  friends 
to  waste  our  time  in  chattering  about  such  London 
nonsense." 

"Then  we'll  talk  of  yesterday,"  said  Lady  Enid,  very 
firmly. 

The  Prophet  looked  rather  blank. 

"Yes,"  she  repeated.  "Yesterday.  I've  guessed 
your  secret." 

"Which  one?"  he  cried,  much  startled. 

"Which?"  she  said  reproachfully.  "Oh,  Mr,  Vivian 
— and  I  thought  you  trusted  in  me." 

The  Prophet  was  silent.  The  third  daughter  of  the 
clergyman  had  often  made  that  remark  to  him  when 
they  were  nearly  engaged.  It  recalled  bygone  mem- 
ories. 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  she  added  with  pressure. 

"I'm  sorry,"  the  Prophet  murmured,  rather  obsti- 
nately. 

"I  always  think,"  she  continued,  with  deliberate 
expansiveness,  "that  nearly  all  the  miseries  of  the 
world  come  about  from  people  not  trusting  in — in 
people." 

"Or  from  people  trusting  in  the  wrong  people. 
Which  is  it?"  said  the  Prophet,  not  without  slyness. 

She  began  to  look  thin,  but  checked  herself. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "why  did  you  stop  me  yesterday 
when  I  was  beginning  to  say  to  Sir  Tiglath  that  I  was 
sure  Malkiel  was  a  man  and  not  a  syndicate?" 

"Did  I  stop  you?"  said  the  Prophet,  artlessly. 

"Yes,  with  your  eyes." 

"Because — because  I  was  sure — that  is,  certain  you 
couldn't  be  sure." 

"How  could  you  be  certain?" 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva     99 

"How?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  how  is  one  certain  of  anything?"  said  the 
Prophet,  rather  feebly. 

"How  are  you  certain  that  I'm  Miss  Minerva  Part- 
ridge?" 

"Because  you  told  me  so  yourself,  because  I've  seen 
you  come  into  Jellybrand's  for  your  letters,  because — " 

"Haven't  I  seen  Malkiel  come  into  Jellybrand's  for 
his?" 

This  unexpected  retort  threw  the  Prophet  upon  his 
beam  ends.  But  he  remembered  his  oath  even  in  that 
very  awkward  position. 

"Does  he  go  to  Jellybrand's?"  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  wild  attempt  after  astonishment.  "But  he's  a  com- 
pany— Sir  Tiglath  said  so." 

"And  what  did  your  eyes  say  yesterday?" 

"I  had  a  cold  in  my  eyes  yesterday,"  said  the 
Prophet.  "They  were  very  weak.  They  were — they 
were  aching." 

Lady  Enid  was  silent  for  a  moment.  During  that 
moment  she  was  conferring  with  her  feminine  instinct. 
What  it  said  to  her  must  be  guessed  by  the  manner 
in  which  she  once  more  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  Prophet. 

"Mr.  Vivian,"  she  said,  with  a  complete  change  of 
demeanour  to  girlish  geniality  and  impulsiveness,  "I'm 
going  to  confide  in  you.  I'm  going  to  throw  myself 
upon  your  mercy." 

The  Prophet  blinked  with  amazement,  like  a  martyr 
who  suddenly  finds  himself  snatched  from  the  rack 
and  laid  upon  a  plush  divan  with  a  satin  cushion  under 
his  head. 


ioo     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I'm  going  to  trust  you,"  Lady  Enid  went  on,  em- 
phasising the  two  pronouns. 

"Many  thanks,"  said  the  Prophet,  unoriginally. 

She  was  sitting  on  a  square  piece  of  furniture  which 
the  Marquis  of  Glome  called  an  "Aberdeen  lean-to." 
She  now  spread  herself  out  upon  it  in  the  easy  attitude 
of  one  who  is  about  to  converse  intimately  for  some 
centuries,  and  proceeded. 

"I  daresay  you  know,  Mr.  Vivian,  that  people  always 
call  me  a  very  sensible  sort  of  girl." 

The  Prophet  remembered  his  grandmother's  remark 
about  Lady  Enid. 

"I  know  they  do,"  he  assented,  trying  not  to  think 
of  five  o'clock. 

"What  do  they  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?" 

"I  say  what  do  they  mean  by  a  sensible  sort  of  girl  ?" 

"Why,  I  suppose—" 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you,"  she  interrupted  him.  "They 
mean  a  sort  of  girl  who  likes  fresh  air,  washes  her  face 
with  yellow  soap,  sports  dogskin  gloves,  drives  in  an 
open  cart  in  preference  to  a  shut  brougham,  enjoys 
a  cold  tub  and  Whyte  Melville's  novels,  laughs  at 
ghosts  and  cries  over  'Misunderstood,'  considers  the 
Bishop  of  London  a  deity  and  the  Albert  Memorial 
a  gem  of  art,  would  wear  a  neat  Royal  fringe  in  her 
grave,  and  a  straw  hat  and  shirt  on  the  Judgment  Day 
if  she  were  in  the  country  for  it — walks  with  the  guns, 
sings  'Home,  Sweet  Home'  in  the  evening  after  din- 
ner to  her  bald-headed  father,  thinks  the  Daily  Mail 
an  intellectual  paper,  the  Royal  Academy  an  uplifting 
institution,  the  British  officer  a  demi-god  with  a  heart 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva     101 

of  gold  in  a  body  of  steel,  and  the  road  from  Calais  to 
Paris  the  way  to  heaven.  That's  what  they  mean  by 
a  sensible  sort  of  girl,  isn't  it  ?" 

"I  daresay  it  is,"  said  the  Prophet,  endeavouring 
not  to  feel  as  if  he  were  sitting  with  a  dozen  or  two  of 
very  practised  stump  orators. 

"Yes,  and  that's  what  they  think  I  am." 

"And  aren't  you  ?"  inquired  the  Prophet. 

Lady  Enid  drew  herself  upon  the  Aberdeen  lean-to. 

"No,"  she  said  decisively,  "I'm  not.  I'm  a  Miss 
Minerva  Partridge." 

"Well,  but  what  is  that?"  asked  the  Prophet,  with 
all  the  air  of  a  man  inquiring  about  some  savage  race. 

"That's  the  secret—" 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !" 

"That  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now,  because  I  trust 
you—" 

Again  the  pronouns  were  emphasised,  and  the 
Prophet  thought  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  keep  his 
oath. 

"And  because  I  know  now  that  you're  silly  too." 

The  Prophet  jumped,  though  not  for  joy. 

"I've  been  Miss  Minerva  Partridge  for — wait  a 
moment,  I  must  look." 

She  got  up,  went  to  a  writing  table,  opened  a  drawer 
in  it,  and  took  out  a  large  red  book  and  turned  its 
leaves. 

"My  diary,"  she  explained.  "It's  foolish  to  keep 
one,  isn't  it?" 

Her  intonation  so  obviously  called  for  an  affirmative 
that  the  Prophet  felt  constrained  to  reply, — 

"Very  foolish  indeed." 


IO2    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

She  smiled  with  pleasure. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  think  so.  Ah — exactly  a  year  and 
a  half." 

"You've  been  Miss  Minerva  Partridge?" 

"Yes." 

"So  long  as  that?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Mr.  Vivian,  during  that  time  I  have 
been  leading  a  double  life." 

The  Prophet  remembered  the  other  double  life  be- 
side the  borders  of  the  River  Mouse,  and  began  to 
wonder  if  he  were  acquainted  with  any  human  being 
who  led  a  single  one. 

"Many  people  do  that,"  he  remarked  rather  aim- 
lessly. 

Lady  Enid  looked  vexed. 

"I  did  not  say  I  had  a  monopoly  of  the  commodity," 
she  rejoined,  evidently  wishing  that  she  had. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  Prophet,  making  things  worse; 
"one  meets  people  who  live  double  lives  every  day,  I 
might  almost  say  every  hour." 

The  clock  had  just  struck  four,  and  he  had  begun 
to  think  of  five.  Lady  Enid's  pleasant  plumpness 
began  rapidly  to  disappear. 

"I  can't  say  I  do,"  she  said  sharply,  feeling  that  most 
of  the  gilt  was  being  stripped  off  her  sin. 

She  stopped  in  such  obvious  dissatisfaction  that  the 
Prophet,  vaguely  aware  that  he  had  made  some  mis- 
take, said, — 

"Please  go  on.  I  am  so  interested.  Why  have  you 
led  a  double  life  for  the  last  week  and  a  half?" 

"Year  and  a  half,  I  said." 

"I  mean  year  and  a  half." 

He  forced  his  mobile  features  to  assume  a  fixed 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva    103 

expression  of  greedy,  though  rather  too  constant, 
curiosity.  Lady  Enid  brightened  up. 

"Mr.  Vivian,"  she  said,  "many  girls  are  born  sensi- 
ble-looking without  wishing  it." 

"Are  they  really?    It  never  occurred  to  me." 

"Such  things  very  seldom  do  occur  to  men.  Now 
that  places  these  girls  in  a  very  painful  position.  I 
was  placed  in  this  position  as  soon  as  I  was  born,  or 
at  least  as  soon  as  I  began  to  look  like  anything  at  all. 
For  babies  really  don't." 

"That's  very  true,"  assented  the  Prophet,  with  more 
fervour. 

"People  continually  said  to  me,  'What  a  nice, 
sensible  girl  you  are' ;  or — 'One  always  feels  your 
Common  sense' ;  or — 'There's  nothing  foolish  about 
you,  Enid,  thank  Heaven!'  The  Chieftain  relied 
upon  me  thoroughly.  So  did  the  tenants.  So  did 
everybody.  You  can  understand  that  it  became  very 
trying?" 

"Of  course,  of  course." 

"It's  something  to  do  with  the  shape  of  my  eye- 
brows, the  colour  of  my  hair,  the  way  I  smile  and  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"No  doubt  it  is." 

"Mr.  Vivian,  I'll  tell  you  now,  that  I've  never  felt 
sensible  in  all  my  life." 

"Really !"  ejaculated  the  Prophet,  still  firmly  holding 
all  his  features  together  in  an  unyielding  expression 
of  fixed  curiosity. 

"Never  once,  however  great  the  provocation.  And 
in  my  family,  with  the  Chieftain,  the  provocation  you 
can  understand  is  exceptionally  great." 

The  Marquis  of  Glome,  who  was  the  head  of  a  clan 


104    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

called  "The  MacArdells,"  was  always  named  the 
Chieftain  by  his  relations  and  friends. 

"I  felt  sure  it  must  be,"  said  the  Prophet,  decisively. 

"Nevertheless  it  is  so  extremely  difficult,  if  not  im- 
possible, not  to  try  to  be  what  people  take  you  for  that 
I  was  in  a  perpetual  condition  of  acting  sensibly,  against 
my  true  nature." 

"How  very  trying!"  murmured  the  Prophet,  me- 
chanically. 

"It  was,  Mr.  Vivian.  It  often  made  me  feel  quite  ill. 
Nobody  but  you  knows  how  I  have  suffered." 

"And  why  do  I  know?"  inquired  the  Prophet. 

"Because  I  realised  yesterday  that  you  must  be 
almost  as  silly  by  nature  as  I  am." 

"Yesterday — why?     When?" 

"When  you  said  to  Sir  Tiglath  that  you  could 
prophesy." 

The  Prophet  stiffened.  She  laughed  almost  affec- 
tionately. 

"So  absurd !  But  I  was  vexed  when  you  said  you'd 
give  it  up.  You  mustn't  do  that,  or  you'll  be  flying  in 
the  face  of  your  own  folly." 

She  drew  the  Aberdeen  lean-to,  which  ran  easily  on 
Edinburgh  castors,  a  little  nearer  to  him,  and  con- 
tinued. 

"At  least  I  felt  obliged  to  seek  an  outlet.  I  could 
not  stifle  my  real  self  for  ever,  and  yet  I  could  not  be 
comfortably  silly  with  those  who  were  absolutely 
convinced  of  my  permanent  good  sense.  I  tried  to  be 
several  times." 

"Didn't  you  succeed?" 

"Not  once." 

"Teh!    Teh!" 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva    105 

"So  at  last  I  was  driven  to  the  double  life." 

"Then  your  coachman  knows?" 

"MacSpillan !  No!  I  took  a  cab — a  four-wheeler 
— at  the  corner  of  the  Square,  and  the  name  of  Minerva 
Partridge.  It's  a  silly  name,  isn't  it  ?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  earnest  anxiety. 

"Quite  idiotic,"  said  the  Prophet,  reassuringly. 

"I  felt  sure  it  was,"  she  cried,  obviously  comforted. 
"Because  it  came  to  me  so  inevitably.  I  was  so  per- 
fectly natural — and  alone — when  I  invented  it.  No 
one  helped  me." 

"I  assure  you,"  reiterated  the  Prophet,  "there  is  no 
doubt  the  name  is  absolutely  and  entirely  idiotic." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Vivian!  What  a  pleasure  it 
is  to  talk  to  you !  Under  this  name  I  have,  for  a  year 
and  a  half,  led  an  idiotic  life,  such  a  life  as  really  suits 
me,  such  a  life  as  is  in  complete  accord  with  my  true 
nature.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it !  The  sense  of  freedom !  If 
only  all  other  silly  girls  who  look  sensible  like  me  had 
the  courage  to  do  what  I  have  done !" 

"It  is  a  pity !"  said  the  Prophet,  in  assent,  beginning 
to  be  genuinely  moved  by  the  obvious  sincerity  of  this 
human  being's  bent  towards  folly.  "But  ,what  have 
you  done  during  this  year  and  a  half  of  truth  and 
freedom  ?" 

"More  foolish  things  than  many  crowd  into  a  life- 
time," she  cried  ecstatically.  "It  would  take  me  days 
to  tell  you  of  half  of  them !" 

"Oh,  then  you  mustn't,"  said  the  Prophet,  glancing 
furtively  at  the  clock.  "Had  you  come  out  to  be  silly 
yesterday  afternoon  ?" 

"Yes,  I  had — to  be  sillier  even  than  usual.  And  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Sir  Tiglath  catching  sight  of  me  in 


106     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

the  avenue,  and  then — then  Mr.  Sagittarius  and  you 
being  in  the  parlour — " 

She  stopped. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  in  her  usual  tone  of  breezy 
common  sense,  "were  you  living  a  double  life  in  the 
parlour  ?" 

"I !"  said  the  Prophet.  "Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  I  never 
do  anything  of  that  kind." 

"Sure?" 

"Quite  certain." 

"You're  not  going  to  ?" 

"Certainly  not.     Nothing  would  induce  me." 

She  looked  at  him,  as  if  unconvinced,  raising  her 
dark,  sensible  eyebrows. 

"All  Jellybrand's  clients  do,"  she  said.  "And  I'm 
certain  Mr.  Sagittarius — " 

"I  assure  you,"  said  the  Prophet,  with  the  heavy 
earnestness  of  absolute  insincerity,  "Mr.  Sagittarius  is 
the  most  single  lived  man  I  ever  met,  the  very  most. 
But  why  did  Sir  Tiglath,  that  is,  why  did  you — ?" 

"Try  to  avoid  him?    Well—" 

For  the  first  time  she  hesitated,  and  began  to  look 
slightly  confused. 

"Well,"  she  repeated,  "Sir  Tiglath  is  a  very  strange, 
peculiar  old  man." 

The  Prophet  thought  that  if  the  young  librarian  had 
been  present  he  would  have  eliminated  the  second  ad- 
jective. 

"Peculiar!  Yes,  he  is.  His  appearance,  his  man- 
ner—" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that." 

"No?" 

"No.    Lots  of  elderly  men  have  purple  faces,  turned 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva    107 

legs  and  roaring  voices.  You  must  know  that.  Sir 
Tiglath  is  peculiar  in  this  way — he  is  quite  elderly  and 
yet  he's  not  in  the  least  little  bit  silly." 

"Oh!" 

"He's  a  thoroughly  sensible  old  man,  the  only  one 
I  ever  met." 

"Your  father?" 

"The  Chieftain  can  be  very  foolish  at  times.  That's 
why  he's  always  relied  so  on  me." 

She  gave  this  proof  triumphantly.  The  Prophet  felt 
bound  to  accept  it. 

"Sir  Tiglath  is  really,  as  an  old  man,  what  everybody 
thinks  I  am,  as  a  young  woman.  D'you  see?" 

"You  mean?" 

"The  opposite  of  me.  And  in  this  way  too.  While 
I  hide  my  silliness  under  my  eyebrows,  and  hair,  and 
smile,  and  manner,  he  hides  his  sensibleness  under  his. 
When  people  meet  me  they  always  think — what  a 
common-sense  young  woman !  When  they  meet  him 
they  always  think — what  a  preposterous  old  man !" 

"Well,  but  then,"  cried  the  Prophet,  struck  by  a 
sudden  idea,  "if  that  is  so,  how  can  you  live  a  double 
life  as  Miss  Minerva  Partridge?  You  can't  change 
your  eyebrows  with  your  name !" 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  women !"  she  murmured.  "No, 
but  you  see  I  begin  at  once." 

"Begin?" 

"Being  silly.  All  the  people  who  know  me  as  Miss 
Partridge  know  I'm  an  absurd  person  in  spite  of  my 
looks.  I've  proved  it  to  them  by  my  actions.  I've 
begun  at  once  before  they  could  have  time  to  judge 
by  my  appearance.  I've  told  them  instantly  that  I'm 
a  Christian  Scientist,  and  a  believer  in  the  value  of 


io8     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

tight-lacing  and  in  ghosts,  an  anti-vaccinator,  a  Fabian, 
a  member  of  'The  Masculine  Club,'  a  'spirit,'  a  friend 
of  Mahatmas,  an  intimate  of  the  'Rational  Dress'  set — 
you  know,  who  wear  things  like  half  inflated  balloons 
in  Piccadilly — a  vegetarian,  a  follower  of  Mrs.  Besant, 
a  drinker  of  hop  bitters  and  Zozophine,  a  Jacobite,  a 
hater  of  false  hair  and  of  all  collective  action  to  stamp 
out  hydrophobia,  a  stamp-collector,  an  engager  of  lady- 
helps  instead  of  servants,  an  amateur  reciter  and  skirt 
dancer,  an  owner  of  a  lock  of  Paderewski's  hair — torn 
fresh  from  the  head  personally  at  a  concert — an  ad- 
mirer of  George  Bernard  Shaw  as  a  thinker  but  a  hater 
of  him  as  a  humourist,  a  rationalist  and  reader  of 
Punch,  an  atheist  and  table-turner,  a  friend  of  all  who 
think  that  women  don't  desire  to  be  slaves,  a  homceopa- 
thist  and  Sandowite,  an  enemy  of  babies — as  if  all 
women  didn't  worship  them ! — a  lover  of  cats — as  if  all 
women  didn't  hate  one  another ! — a — " 

"One — one  moment!"  gasped  the  Prophet  at  this 
juncture.  "Many  of  these  views  are  surely  in  opposi- 
tion, in  direct  opposition  to  each  other." 

"I  daresay.  That  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  to  a 
real  silly  woman  such  as  I  am." 

"And  then  you  said  that  you  proved  by  your  actions 
instantly  that — " 

"So  I  did.  I  caught  up  a  happy  dog  in  the  street, 
cried  over  its  agony,  unmuzzled  it  and  allowed  it  to 
add  its  little  contribution  to  the  joy  of  life  by  mangling 
a  passing  archdeacon.  I  sat  on  the  floor  and  handled 
snakes.  I  wore  my  hair  parted  on  one  side  and  smoked 
a  cigarette  in  a  chiffon  gown.  I  refused  food  in  a 
public  restaurant  because  it  had  been  cooked  by 
a  Frenchman.  I — " 


The  Double  Life  of  Miss  Minerva    109 

"Enough !  Enough !"  cried  the  Prophet.  "I  under- 
stand. You  forced  Miss  Partridge's  acquaintances  to 
believe  in  Miss  Partridge's  folly.  But  who  were  these 
acquaintances  ?" 

"It  would  take  me  hours  to  tell  you.  First  there 
was — " 

"I  really  have  to  go  at  five." 

"Then  I'll  finish  about  Sir  Tiglath.  He's  an  utterly 
sensible  old  man,  and  so  is  different  from  all  other  old 
men,  for  you  know  human  folly  increases  enormously 
with  age.  Isn't  that  lovely?  Now,  Mr.  Vivian,  Sir 
Tiglath  admires  me." 

"Ah!" 

"I  know.  You  think  that  proves  him  the  contrary  of 
what  I've  said." 

"Not  at  all!"  exclaimed  the  Prophet,  with  frenzied 
courtesy,  "not  at  all !" 

"Yes,  you  do.  But  you're  wrong.  He  doesn't 
exactly  admire  my  character,  but  he  likes  me  because 
I'm  tall,  and  have  pleasant  coloured  eyes,  and  thick 
hair,  and  walk  well,  and  know  that  he's  really  an  un- 
usually sensible  old  man." 

"Oh,  is  that  it?" 

"Yes.  But  now,  if  he  could  be  made  to  think  that 
I  really  am  what  I  look  like — a  thoroughly  sensible 
young  woman,  he  would  more  than  admire  me,  he 
would  adore  me." 

"But  d'you  wish  him  to?"  asked  the  Prophet  in  blank 
amazement. 

"I  do." 

"Why?" 

"The  Miss  Minerva  part  of  me  desires  it." 

"Indeed." 


no   The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yes.  He's  got  to  do  one  or  two  things  for  Miss 
Minerva  without  knowing  that  I'm  Miss  Minerva. 
That  is  why  I  bolted  into  the  parlour  yesterday.  Just 
as  I  was  stepping  into  Jellybrand's  I  happened  to  see 
Sir  Tiglath  and  he  happened  to  think  he  saw  rne." 

"Only  to  think?" 

"Yes.  He  is  not  certain.  I  saw  that  by  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face.  He  was  wondering  whether  I  was 
me — or  is  it  I  ? — or  not.  I  didn't  give  him  time  to  be 
certain.  I  rushed  into  the  parlour." 

"You  did." 

"So  it's  all  right.  Frederick  Smith  would  never 
betray  a  client." 

"Really?" 

"Never;  so  I'm  saved.  For  Sir  Tiglath  isn't  certain 
even  now.  I  found  that  out  on  the  way  home  with  him 
last  night.  And  an  old  man  who's  uncertain  of  the 
truth  can  soon  be  made  certain  of  the  lie,  by  a  young 
woman  he  admires,  however  sensible  he  is.  And  now 
I'll  tell  you  part  of  what  I  want  Sir  Tiglath  to  do  for 
Miss  Minerva — " 

But  at  this  moment  the  clock  struck  five,  and  the 
Prophet  bounded  up  with  hysterical  activity,  and  hastily 
took  his  leave,  promising  to  call  again  and  hear  more 
on  the  following  day. 

"And  tell  more,"  thought  Lady  Enid  to  herself  as 
the  door  of  the  sensible-looking  boudoir  shut  behind 
him. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  PROPHET  RECEIVES  HIS  DIRECTIONS  FROM  MADAME 

WHEN  the  Prophet  reached  his  door  he  rang  the  bell 
with  a  rather  faltering  hand.  Mr.  Ferdinand  appeared. 

"Any  one  called,  Mr.  Ferdinand  ?"  asked  the  Prophet 
with  an  attempt  at  airy  gaiety. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Ferdinand,  looking  rather  like 
an  elderly  maiden  lady  when  she  unexpectedly  encoun- 
ters her  cook  taking  an  airing  with  a  corporal  in  the 
Life  Guards,  "the  pair  of  persons  you  expected,  sir, 
has  come." 

The  Prophet  blushed. 

"Oh!  You — you  haven't  disturbed  Mrs.  Merillia 
with  them,  I  hope,"  he  rejoined. 

"No,  sir,  indeed.  Gustavus  said  your  orders  was 
that  they  was  to  be  shown  quietly  to  the  library." 

"Exactly." 

"I  begged  them  to  walk  a-tiptoe,  sir." 

"What  ?"  ejaculated  the  Prophet. 

•I  informed  them  there  was  illness  in  the  house,  sir." 

"And  did  they— er— ?" 

"The  male  person  got  on  his  toes  at  once,  sir,  but 
the  female  person  shrieks  out,  'Is  it  catching?  Ho! 
Think  of — of  Capericornopus,'  sir,  or  something  to  that 
effect." 


1 1 2    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Teh!    Teh!" 

"I  took  the  liberty  to  say,  sir,  that  ankles  was  not 
catching,  and  that  I  would  certainly  think  of  Caperi- 
cornopus  if  she  would  but  walk  a-tiptoe." 

"Well,  and—" 

"By  hook  and  crook  I  got  them  to  the  library,  sir. 
But  the  male  person's  boots  creaked  awful.  The  getting 
on  his  toes,  sir,  seemed  to  induce  it,  as  you  might  say." 

"Yes,  yes.    So  they're  in  the  library  ?" 

"They  are,  sir,  and  have  been  talking  incessant,  sir, 
ever  since  they  was  put  there.  We  can  hear  their 
voices  in  our  hall,  sir." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  again  pursed  his  lips  and  looked  like 
an  elderly  lady.  The  Prophet  could  no  longer  meet 
his  eye. 

"Bring  some  tea,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  quietly  to  the 
library.  And — and  if  Mrs.  Merillia  should  ask  for  me 
say  I'm — say  I'm  busy— er — writing." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  moved  a  step  backward. 

"Master  Hennessey!"  he  cried  in  a  choked  voice. 
I,  a  London  butler,  and  you  ask  me  to — !" 

"No,  no.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  Sim- 
ply say  I'm  busy.  That  will  be  quite  true.  I  shall  be 
— very  busy." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand  with  a  stern  and  at 
length  successful  effort  to  conquer  his  outraged  feel- 
ings. 

He  wavered  heavily  away  to  fetch  the  tea,  while  the 
Prophet,  like  a  guilty  thing,  stole  towards  the  library. 
When  he  drew  near  to  the  door  he  heard  a  somewhat 
resounding  hubbub  of  conversation  proceeding  within 
the  chamber.  He  distinguished  two  voices.  One  was 
the  hollow  and  sepulchral  organ  of  Malkiel  the  Second, 


The  Prophet  Receives   Directions      113 

the  other  was  a  heavy  and  authoritative  contralto,  ot 
the  buzzing  variety,  which  occasionally  gave  an  almost 
professional  click — suggesting  mechanism — as  the 
speaker  passed  from  the  lower  to  the  upper  register  of 
her  voice.  As  the  Prophet  reached  the  mat  outside  the 
door  he  heard  the  contralto  voice  say, — 

"How  are  we  to  know  it  really  is  only  ankles  ?" 

The  voice  of  Malkiel  the  Second  replied  plain- 
tively,— 

"But  the  gentleman  who  opened  the  door  said — " 

The  contralto  voice  clicked,  and  passed  to  its  upper 
register. 

"You  are  over  fifty  years  of  age,"  it  said  with  devas- 
tating compassion,  "and  you  can  still  trust  a  gentleman 
who  opens  doors!  O  sanctum  simplicitatus !" 

On  hearing  this  sudden  gush  of  classical  erudition 
the  Prophet  must  have  been  seized  by  a  paralysing 
awe,  for  he  remained  as  if  glued  to  the  mat,  and  made 
no  effort  to  open  the  door  and  step  into  the  room, 

"If  I  am  sanctified,  Sophronia,"  said  the  voice  of 
Malkiel,  "I  cannot  help  it,  indeed  I  can't.  We  are  as 
we  are." 

"Did  bottom  say  so  in  his  epics  ?"  cried  the  contralto, 
contemptuously.  "Did  Shakespeare  imply  that  when 
he  invented  his  immortal  Bacon,  or  Carlyle,  the  great 
Cumberland  sage,  when  he  penned  his  world-famed 
'Sartus'?" 

"P'r'aps  not,  my  dear.  You  know  best.  Still,  ordi- 
nary men — not  that  I,  of  course,  can  claim  to  be  one — 
must  remain,  to  a  certain  extent,  what  they  are." 

"Then  why  was  Samuel  Smiles  born?" 

"What,  my  love?" 

"Why,  I  say  ?    Where  is  the  use  of  effort  ?    Of  what 


114     The  Prophet,  of  Berkeley  Square 

benefit'  was  Plato's  existence  to  the  republic  ?  Of  what 
assistance  has  the  great  Tracy  Tupper  been  if  men  must 
still,  despite  all  his  proverbs,  remain  what  they  are? 
O  curum  hominibus!  O  imitatori!  Servus  pecum!" 

At  this  point  the  voice  of  Mr.  Ferdinand  remarked 
in  the  small  of  the  Prophet's  back, — 

"Shall  I  set  down  the  tea  on  the  mat,  sir,  or — " 

The  Prophet  bounded  into  the  library,  tingling  in 
every  vein.  His  panther-like  entrance  evidently  took 
the  two  conversationalists  aback,  for  Malkiel  the  Sec- 
ond, who  had  been  plaintively  promenading  about  the 
room,  still  on  his  toes  according  to  the  behest  of  Mr. 
Ferdinand,  sat  down  violently  on  a  small  table  as  if  he 
had  been  shot,  while  the  contralto  voice,  which  had 
been  sitting  on  a  saddle-back  chair  by  the  hearth,  simul- 
taneously bounced  up;  both  these  proceedings  being 
carried  out  with  the  frantic  promptitude  characteristic 
of  complete  and  unhesitating  terror. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  the  Prophet.  "I  hope  I 
haven't  disturbed  you." 

Malkiel  the  Second  leaned  back,  the  contralto  voice 
leaned  forward,  and  both  breathed  convulsively. 

"I  really  must  apologise,"  continued  the  Prophet. 
"I  fear  I  have  startled  you." 

His  guests  swallowed  nothing  simultaneously  and 
mechanically  drew  out  their  handkerchiefs.  Then 
Malkiel  feebly  got  up  and  the  contralto  voice  feebly 
sank  down  again. 

"I — I  thought  I  said  sharp,  sir,"  remarked  Malkiel, 
at  length,  with  a  great  effort  recovering  himself. 

"Wasn't  I  sharp?"  returned  the  Prophet.  "Will  you 
present  me?" 


The  Prophet  Receives  Directions      115 

"Are  you  equal  to  it,  my  love?"  inquired  Malkiel, 
tenderly,  to  the  contralto  voice. 

The  contralto  voice  nodded  hysterically. 

"Madame  Sagittarius,  sir,"  said  Malkiel,  turning 
proudly  to  the  Prophet,  "my  wife,  the  mother  of  Corona 
and  Capricornus." 

The  Prophet  bowed  and  the  lady  inclined  herself, 
slightly  protruding  her  elbows  as  she  did  so,  as  if  just 
to  draw  attention  to  the  fact  that  she  was  possessed  of 
those  appendages  and  could  use  them  if  necessary. 

Madame  Malkiel,  or  rather  Madame  Sagittarius,  as 
she  must  for  the  present  be  called,  was  a  smallish 
woman  of  some  forty  winters.  Her  hair,  which  was 
drawn  away  intellectually  from  an  ample  and  decidedly 
convex  brow,  was  as  black  as  a  patent  leather  boot,  and 
had  a  gloss  upon  it  as  of  carefully-adjusted  varnish. 
Her  eyes  were  very  large,  very  dark  and  very  prominent. 
Her  features  were  obstreperous  and  rippling,  running 
from  right  to  left,  and  her  teeth,  which  were  shaded 
by  a  tiny  black  moustache,  gleamed  in  a  manner  that 
could  scarcely  be  called  natural.  She  was  attired  in 
a  black  velvet  gown  trimmed  with  a  very  large  quantity 
of  beadwork,  a  bonnet  adorned  with  purple  cherries, 
green  tulips  and  orange-coloured  ostrich  tips,  a  pelisse, 
to  which  bugles  had  been  applied  with  no  uncertain 
hand,  and  an  opal  necklace.  Her  gloves  were  of  white, 
her  boots  of  black  kid,  the  latter  being  furnished  with 
elastic  sides,  and  over  her  left  wrist  she  carried  a  plush 
reticule,  whose  mouth  was  kept  shut  by  a  tightly-drawn 
scarlet  riband.  On  the  left  side  of  her  pelisse  reposed 
a  round  bouquet  of  violets  about  the  size  of  a  Rugby 
football. 

"I  thought  you  might  like  to  have  some  tea,"  began 


1 1 6     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

the  Prophet,  in  his  most  soothing  manner,  while  Mr. 
Ferdinand,  with  pursed  lips,  softly  arranged  that  bever- 
age upon  the  seat  which  Mr.  Sagittarius — so  we  must 
call  him — had  just  vacated. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Madame  Sagittarius,  with  dignity. 
"It  would  be  acceptable.  The  long  journey  from  the 
banks  of  the  Mouse  to  these  central  districts  is  not 
without  its  fatigue.  A  beautiful  equipage !" 

"You  said—" 

"You  have  a  very  fine  equipage." 

"You  have  seen  the  brougham?"  said  the  Prophet, 
in  some  surprise. 

"What  broom  ?"  buzzed  Madame  Sagittarius. 

"I  thought  you  were  admiring — " 

"The  tea  equipage." 

"Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure.    Queen  Anne  silver,  yes." 

"A  great  woman !"  said  Madame  Sagittarius,  spread- 
ing a  silk  handkerchief  that  exactly  matched  the  ostrich 
tips  in  her  bonnet  carefully  over  her  velvet  lap.  "All 
who  have  read  Mrs.  Markham's  work  of  genius  with 
understanding  must  hold  her  name  in  reverence.  A 
noble  creature !  A  pity  she  died !" 

"A  great  pity  indeed !" 

"Still  we  must  remember  that  Mors  omnis  communi- 
bus.  We  must  not  forget  that." 

"No,  no." 

"And  after  all  it  is  the  will  of  Providence.  Mors 
Deo." 

"Quite  so." 

During  this  classical  and  historical  retrospect  Mr. 
Ferdinand  had  finished  his  task  and  quitted  the  apart- 
ment. As  soon  as  he  had  gone  Madame  Sagittarius 
continued, — 


The  Prophet  Receives  Directions      1 1 7 

"As  the  mother  of  Corona  and  Capricornus  I  feel  it 
my  duty  to  ask  you,  sir — that  is,  Mr — " 

"Vivian." 

"Mr.  Vivian,  whether  the  illness  in  your  house  is 
really  only  ankles  as  the  gentleman  who  opened  the 
door  assured  me  ?" 

"It  is  only  that." 

"Not  catching?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no." 

"There,  Sophronia!"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "I  told 
you  it  was  merely  the  prophecy." 

He  suddenly  assumed  a  formidable  manner,  and 
continued, — 

"And  now,  sir,  that  we  are  alone — " 

But  Madame  interrupted  him. 

"Kindly  permit  our  host  to  succour  my  fatigue, 
Jupiter,"  she  said  severely.  "I  am  greatly  upset  by  the 
journey.  When  I  am  restored  we  can  proceed  to  busi- 
ness. At  present  I  am  fit  only  for  consolation." 

Mr.  Sagittarius  subsided,  and  the  Prophet  hastily 
assisted  the  victim  of  prolonged  travel  to  some  buttered 
toast/  Having  also  attended  to  the  wants  of  her  precipi- 
tate underling,  he  thought  it  a  good  opportunity  to 
proceed  to  a  full  explanation  with  the  august  couple, 
and  he  therefore  remarked,  with  an  ingratiating  and 
almost  tender  smile, — 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  at  once  that  there  will 
be  no  need  for  any  further  anxiety  on  your  part.  I 
have  put  down  my  telescope  and  have — well,  in  fact, 
I  have  decided  once  and  for  all  to  give  up  prophecy  for 
the  future." 

The  Prophet,  in  his  innocence,  had  expected  that  this 
declaration  of  policy  would  exercise  a  soothing  influence 


1 1 8     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

upon  his  guests,  more  especially  when  he  added — it  is 
to  be  feared  with  some  insincerity, — 

"I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  overrated  my 
powers,  as  amateurs  will,  you  know,  and  that  I  have 
never  really  possessed  any  special  talent  in  that  direc- 
tion. I  think  I  shall  take  up  golf  instead,  or  perhaps 
the  motor  car." 

He  spoke  deliberately  in  a  light-minded,  even  frivo- 
lous, manner,  toying  airily  with  a  sugar  biscuit,  as 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  which  stood  opposite  to 
Madame  Sagittarius's.  To  his  great  surprise  his  well- 
meaning  remarks  were  received  with  every  symptom 
of  grave  dissatisfaction  by  his  illustrious  companions. 
Madame  Sagittarius  threw  herself  suddenly  forward 
with  a  most  vivacious  snort,  and  her  husband's  face 
was  immediately  overcast  by  a  threatening  gloom  that 
seemed  to  portend  some  very  disagreeable  expression 
of  adverse  humour. 

"That  won't  do,  sir,  at  this  time  of  day!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "You  should  have  thought  of  that  yesterday. 
That  won't  do  at  all,  will  it,  Madame  ?" 

"O  miseris  hominorum  mentas!"  exclaimed  that  lady, 
tragically.  "O  pectorae  caecae!" 

"You  hear  her,  sir?"  continued  Mr.  Sagittarius. 
"You  grasp  her  meaning?" 

"I  do  hear  certainly,"  said  the  Prophet,  beginning  to 
feel  that  he  must  really  rub  up  his  classics. 

"She  helps  Capricornus,  sir,  of  an  evening.  She 
assists  him  in  his  Latin.  Madame  is  a  lady  of  deep 
education,  sir." 

"Quite  so.    But—" 

"There  can  be  no  going  back,  sir,"  continued  Mr. 
Sagittarius.  "Can  there,  Madame?" 


The  Prophet  Receives   Directions      1 1 9 

"No  human  creature  can  go  back,"  said  Madame 
Sagittarius.  "Such  is  the  natural  law  as  exemplified 
by  the  great  Charles  Darwin  in  his  Vegetable  Mould 
and  Silkivorms.  No  human  creature  can  go  back. 
Least  of  all  this  gentleman.  He  must  go  forward  and 
we  with  him." 

The  Prophet  began  to  feel  uncomfortable. 

"But—"  he  said. 

"There  is  no  such  word  as  'but'  in  my  dictionary," 
retorted  the  lady. 

"Ah,  an  abridged  edition,  no  doubt,"  said  the 
Prophet.  "Still— 

"I  am  better  now,"  interposed  Madame  Sagittarius, 
brushing  some  crumbs  of  toast  from  her  pelisse  with 
the  orange  handkerchief.  "Jupiter,  if  you  are  ready, 
we  can  explain  the  test  to  the  gentleman." 

So  saying  she  drew  a  vinaigrette,  set  with  fine  imita- 
tion carbuncles,  from  the  plush  reticule,  and  applied  it 
majestically  to  her  nose.  The  Prophet  grew  really 
perturbed.  He  remembered  his  promise  to  his  grand- 
mother and  Sir  Tiglath,  and  felt  that  he  must  assert 
himself  more  strongly. 

"I  assure  you,"  he  began,  with  some  show  of  firm- 
ness, "no  tests  will  be  necessary.  My  telescope  has 
already  been  removed  from  its  position,  and — " 

"Then  it  must  be  reinstated,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius, "and  this  very  night.  Madame  has  hit  upon  a 
plan,  sir,  of  searching  you  to  the  quick.  Trust  a  woman, 
sir,  to  do  that." 

"I  should  naturally  trust  Madame  Sagittarius,"  said 
the  Prophet,  very  politely.  "But  I  really  cannot — " 

"So  you  say,  sir.  Our  business  is  to  find  out  whether, 
living  in  the  Berkeley  Square  as  you  do,  you  can  bring 


I2O    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

off  a  prophecy  of  any  importance  or  not.  The  future 
of  myself,  Madame  and  family  depends  upon  the  re- 
sults of  the  experiments  which  we  shall  make  upon 
you  during  the  next  few  days." 

The  Prophet  began  to  feel  as  if  he  were  shut  up 
alone  with  a  couple  of  determined  practitioners  of 
vivisection. 

"Let's  see,  my  dear,"  continued  Mr.  Sagittarius,  ad- 
dressing his  wife,  "what  was  it  to  be?" 

"The  honoured  grandmother  one,"  replied  the  lady, 
tersely. 

The  Prophet  started. 

"I  cannot  possibly  consent — "  he  began. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Vivian,  listen  to  me,"  interposed  Madame 
Sagittarius. 

"Pray,  sir,  attend  to  Madame !"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
sternly. 

"But  I  must  really—" 

"January,"  said  Madame,  "is  a  month  of  grave  im- 
portance to  grandmothers  this  year,  is  it  not,  Jupiter?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  In  consequence  of  Scorpio  being 
in  the  sign  of  Sagittarius.  The  crab  will  be  very  busy 
up  till  the  third  of  February." 

"Just  so." 

"At  which  date  the  little  dog,  my  love,  assumes  the 
roll  of  maleficence  towards  the  aged." 

"I  know.  Cane  cavern.  When  was  the  old  lady  born, 
Mr.  Vivian,  if  you  please  ?" 

"What  old  lady?"  stammered  the  Prophet,  begin- 
ning to  perspire. 

"The  old  lady  who's  got  ankles,  your  honoured 
grandmother?" 

"On  the  twentieth  of  this  month.    But—" 


The  Prophet   Receives  Directions      121 

"At  what  time?" 

"Six  in  the  morning.    But — " 

"Under  what  star?" 

"Saturn.    But—" 

"That's  lucky,  isn't  it,  Jupiter?"  said  Madame,  in 
an  increasingly  business-like  manner.  "That  brings 
her  into  touch  with  the  Camelopard — doesn't  it?" 

"Into  very  close  touch  indeed,  my  dear,  and  also  with 
the  bull.  He  goes  right  to  her,  as  you  may  say." 

"I  cannot  conceivably  permit — "  began  the  Prophet 
in  much  agitation. 

But  Madame,  without  taking  the  smallest  notice  of 
him,  proceeded. 

"Will  the  scorpion  be  round  her  on  her  birthday?" 

"Close  round  her,  my  love — with  the  serpent.  They 
work  together." 

"Together,  do  they?  You  know  what  effect  they'll 
have  on  her,  don't  you,  Jupiter  ?" 

"I  should  rather  think  so,  my  darling,"  replied  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  with  an  air  of  profound  and  sinister  infor- 
mation. 

The  Prophet's  blood  ran  cold  in  his  veins.  Yet  he 
felt  for  the  moment  unable  to  utter  a  syllable,  or  even 
to  make  a  gesture  of  protest.  So  entirely  detached 
from  him  did  the  worthy  couple  appear  to  be,  so  com- 
pletely wrapped  up  in  their  own  evidently  well-consid- 
ered and  carefully-laid  plans,  that  he  had  a  sense  of 
being  in  another  sphere,  not  theirs,  of  hearing  their 
remarks  from  some  long  distance  off.  Madame  Sagit- 
tarius now  turned  towards  him  in  a  formal  manner,  and 
continued. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Vivian,  I  shall  have  to  lay  down  the 
procedure  that  you  will  follow.  Have  you  a  good 


122    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

memory — no,  a  pencil  and  notebook  will  be  best. 
Litterae  scriptus  manetur,  as  we  all  know  full  well. 
Have  you  a  pencil  and — ?" 

The  Prophet  nodded  mechanically. 

"Will  you  kindly  get  them  ?" 

The  Prophet  rose,  walked  to  his  writing  table  and 
felt  for  the  implements. 

\     "If  you  will  sit  down  now  I  will  direct  you,"  con- 
tinued Madame,  authoritatively. 

The  Prophet  sat  down  at  the  table,  holding  a  lead 
pencil  upside  down  in  one  hand  and  an  account-book 
wrong  side  up  in  the  other. 

"Let's  see — what's  to-day?"  inquired  Madame,  of 
her  husband. 

"The  seventeenth,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
looking  at  his  wife  with  almost  sickly  adoration. 

"To  be  sure.  Capricornus's  day  for  Homer's  Idyl. 
Very  well,  Mr.  Vivian,  to-day  being  the  seventeenth, 
and  the  old  lady's  birthday  the  twentieth,  you  have 
three  days,  or  rather  nights,  of  steady  work  before 
you." 

"Steady  work?"  murmured  the  Prophet. 

"What  should  be  his  hours,  Jupiter?"  continued 
Madame.  "At  what  time  of  night  is  he  to  commence  ? 
Shall  I  say  nine  ?" 

The  Prophet  remembered  feebly  that,  during  the 
next  three  nights,  he  had  two  important  dinner  engage- 
ments, a  party  at  the  Russian  Ambassador's,  and  a 
reception  at  the  Lord  Chancellor's  just  opposite.  How- 
ever, he  made  no  remark.  Somehow  he  felt  that  words 
were  useless  when  confronted  with  such  an  iron  will 
as  that  of  the  lady  in  the  pelisse. 

"Nine  would  be  too  early,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Sagit- 


The  Prophet   Receives   Directions      123 

tarius.  "Eleven  p.m.  would  be  more  to  the  pur- 
pose." 

"Eleven  let  it  be  then,  punctually.  Will  you  dot 
down,  Mr.  Vivian,  that  you  have  to  be  at  the  telescope 
to  take  observations  at  eleven  p.m.  every  night  from 
now  till  the  twentieth  ult." 

"But  I  have  had  the  telesc — " 

"Kindly  dot  it  down." 

The  Prophet  dotted  it  down  with  the  wrong  end  of 
the  pencil  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  account-book. 

"And  what  are  his  hours  to  be  exactly,  Jupiter?" 
continued  Madame.  "From  eleven  till  dawn,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

The  Prophet  shuddered. 

"Eleven  till  three  will  be  sufficient,  my  love.  The 
crab,  you  know,  has  pretty  well  done  his  London  work 
by  that  time.  And  the  old  lady  will  have  to  depend 
very  much  on  the  crab  for  these  few  nights." 

At  this  point  the  Prophet's  brain  began  to  swim. 
Sparks  seemed  to  float  before  his  eyes,  and  amid  these 
sparks,  nebulous  and  fragmentary  visions  appeared, 
visions  of  his  beloved  grandmother  companioned  by 
scorpions  and  serpents,  in  close  touch  with  camelopards 
and  bovine  monsters,  and,  in  the  last  stress  of  terror 
and  dismay,  left  entirely  dependent  upon  crustaceans 
for  that  help  and  comfort  which  hitherto  her  devoted 
grandson  had  ever  been  thankful  to  afford. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  replied  Madame.  "You  will  be  able 
to  get  to  bed  at  three,  Mr.  Vivian.  Dot  that  down." 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  the  Prophet,  making  a 
minute  pencil  scratch  in  the  midst  of  a  bill  for  butcher's 
meat. 


124    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"During  these  hours — but  you  can  tell  him  the  rest, 
Jupiter." 

So  saying,  and  with  the  air  of  one  retiring  from 
business  upon  a  well-earned  competence,  Madame 
Sagittarius  lay  back  in  her  chair,  settled  her  bonnet- 
strings,  flicked  a  crumb  from  the  football  of  violets 
that  decorated  her  left  side,  and,  extending  her  kid 
boots  towards  the  cheerful  blaze  that  came  from  the 
fire,  fell  with  a  sigh  into  a  comfortable  meditation. 
Mr.  Sagittarius,  on  the  other  hand,  assumed  a  look  of 
rather  hectoring  authority,  and  was  about  to  utter  what 
the  Prophet  had  very  little  doubt  was  a  command  when 
there  came  a  gentle  tap  to  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  said  the  Prophet. 

He  thought  he  had  spoken  in  his  ordinary  voice.  In 
reality  he  had  merely  uttered  a  very  small  whisper. 
The  tap  was  repeated. 

"Louder,  sir,  louder!"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  encour- 
agingly. 

"Come  in !"  shrieked  the  Prophet. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  appeared,  looking  more  like  the 
elderly  spinster  lady  when  confronted  with  the  corporal 
in  the  Life  Guards  than  ever. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  was  to  tell  you  that  Lady  Enid 
Thistle  is  with  Mrs.  Merillia  taking  tea.  Mrs.  Merillia 
thought  you  would  wish  to  know." 

Madame  Sagittarius  took  the  kid  boots  from  the 
blaze  on  hearing  this  aristocratic  name.  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius assumed  a  look  of  reverence,  and  the  Prophet 
realised,  more  acutely  than  ever,  that  even  well-born 
young  women  can  be  inquisitive. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "Say  111— I'll"— he  succeeded 
in  making  his  voice  sound  absolutely  firm — "I'll  come 
in  a  moment." 


The  Prophet  Receives   Directions      125 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  cast  a  glance  of  respectful,  but  un- 
limited, horror  upon  the  Prophet's  guests  and  retired, 
while  the  Prophet,  calling  upon  all  his  manhood,  turned 
to  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"I  regret  more  than  I  can  say  that  I  shall  be  obliged 
now  to  obey  my  grandmother's  summons,"  he  said 
courteously.  "Suppose  we  defer  this — this  pleasant 
little  discussion  to  some  future  oc — " 

"Impossible,  sir!"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "Quite 
impossible.  You  must  get  to  work  to-night,  and  how 
can  you  do  it  without  your  directions  ?" 

"Oh,  I  can  manage  all  right,"  said  the  Prophet,  des- 
perately. "I  can  give  a  guess  as  to — " 

"Non  sunt  ad  astrae  mollibus  a  terms  viae!"  cried 
Madame.  "The  road  from  the  Berkeley  Square  to  the 
stars  is  not  so  easy,  is  it,  Jupiter?" 

"No  indeed,  my  love.    Why — " 

"Then,"  exclaimed  the  Prophet,  much  agitated,  and 
feeling  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  get  rid  of  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius at  once  lest  the  curiosity  of  Lady  Enid  should 
increase  beyond  all  measure,  and  lead  to  an  encounter 
between  the  two  clients  of  Jellybrand's,  "then  kindly 
give  me  my  directions  as  briefly  as  possible,  and — " 

There  was  another  tap  upon  the  door. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  the  Prophet,  distractedly, 
"Come  in!" 

Mr.  Ferdinand  re-entered  very  delicately. 

"Her  ladyship  can  only  stay  a  minute,  sir.  Mrs. 
Merillia  hopes  you  can  leave  your  business — I  said  as 
you  was  very  busy,  sir — and  come  up  to  the  drawing- 
room." 

"Yes,  yes.    I'll  come.  Say  I'll  come,  Mr.  Ferdinand." 

"Yes,  sir." 


126    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

As  the  door  closed  the  Prophet  exclaimed  excitedly, — 

"I  fear  I  really  must — " 

"Take  down  your  directions,  sir,"  broke  in  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  firmly. 

"Very  well,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  desperately, 
seizing  his  pencil  and  the  account-book.  "What  are 
they?" 

"You  swear  to  follow  them,  sir?" 

"Yes,  yes,  anything — anything!" 

"Have  you  a  star  map?" 

"Yes— no!" 

"You  must  get  one." 

"Very  well." 

"You  had  better  do  so  at  the  Stores." 

Madame  breathed  an  almost  sensuous  sigh  which 
caused  her  husband  to  glance  tenderly  towards  her. 

"I  know,  my  love,  I  know,"  he  said.  "It  may  come 
some  day." 

"O  festum  dies!  Longa  intervallam!"  she  mur- 
mured, shaking  her  bonnet  with  the  manner  of  a 
martyr  to  duty. 

Mr.  Sagittarius  was  greatly  moved. 

"She's  a  saint,"  he  whispered  aside  to  the  Prophet, 
as  if  imparting  some  necessary  information. 

"Certainly.    Please  go  on !" 

Mr.  Sagittarius  started,  as  if  suddenly  recalled  to 
mundane  matters. 

"Get  it  at  the  Stores,"  he  said.  "In  the  astronomical 
department." 

"Very  well." 

"Having  done  so,  and  keeping  the  old  lady  perpetu- 
ally in  your  mind,  you  will  place  her  in  the  claws  of  the 
crab—" 


The  Prophet  Receives  Directions      1 27 

"What!" 

"Mentally,  sir,  mentally,  of  course." 

"Oh." 

"And,  allowing  for  the  natural  effect  of  the  scorpion 
and  serpent  upon  one  of  her  venerable  age — " 

"Good  Heavens !" 

"When  close  round  her,  as  they  will  be — but  you 
will  observe  that  for  yourself — " 

The  Prophet  shut  his  eyes  as  one  who  refuses  to 
behold  sacrilege. 

"You  will  trace  the  cycloidal  curve  of  the  planets — 
can  you  do  that?" 

The  Prophet  nodded. 

"As  it  affects  her  birthday,  the  twentieth.  Should 
the  lynx  be  near  her — " 

"No,  no !"  cried  the  Prophet.    "It  shall  not  be !" 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  find  that  out  and  keep  an  eye 
to  it.  But  should  it  be,  you  will  commit  to  paper  what 
result  its  presence  is  likely  to  produce  to  her,  and  work 
the  whole  thing  out  clearly  for  myself  and  Madame  on 
paper — in  prophetic  form,  of  course — so  that  we  receive 
it  by — what  post  shall  I  say,  my  dear?" 

"First  post,  Jupiter." 

"First  post  on — what  day  is  the  twentieth  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  Prophet,  helplessly. 

"A  Thursday,"  said  Madame.  "Capricornus's  day 
for  chronic  sections." 

"She  always  knows,**  said  Mr.  Sagittarius  to  the 
Prophet. 

"Always." 

"Very  well  then,  first  post  Thursday  morning.  Now 
is  that  quite  clear?" 

"Oh,  quite,  quite." 


1 28     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"You  will  of  course  send  the  old  lady's  horoscope 
to  us  at  the  same  time  with  full  particulars." 

"Full  particulars?"  said  the  Prophet.     "What  of?" 

"Of  her  removal  from  the  bottle,  cutting  of  her  first 
tooth,  short  coating,  going  into  skirts,  putting  of  the 
hair  up,  day  of  marriage  and  widowhood,  illnesses — " 

"Especially  the  rashes,  Jupiter,"  struck  in  Madame. 

"What  a  mind!"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius  aside  to  the 
Prophet. 

"What !" 

"Especially,  as  Madame  says,  any  illnesses  taking 
the  form  of  a  rash — the  epidemic  form,  as  I  may  say — 
and  so  forth.  We  are  to  receive  this  document  by  the 
first  post  Thursday  morning." 

"Have  you  dotted  all  that  down,  Mr.  Vivian?"  in- 
quired Madame. 

The  Prophet  hastily  made  a  large  variety  of  scratches 
with  the  lead  pencil. 

"And  now,"  continued  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

There  was  a  third  tap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  cried  the  Prophet,  distractedly,  and  feel- 
ing as  if  homicidal  mania  were  rapidly  creeping  upon 
him. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  appeared  once  more,  with  a  mouth 
like  a  purse. 

"Her  ladyship  says  she  really  must  go  in  a  moment, 
sir,  and  and  Mrs.  Merillia  begs  that — 

"I  am  coming  at  once,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  I  swear  it. 
Go  upstairs  and  swear  I  swear  it." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  departed,  rather  with  the  demeanour 
of  an  archbishop  who  has  been  inveigled  into  pledging 
himself,  on  his  archiepiscopal  oath,  to  commit  some 


The  Prophet  Receives   Directions      129 

horrid  crime.  The  Prophet  turned,  almost  violently, 
towards  his  guests. 

"I  must  go,"  he  cried.  "I  must  indeed.  Pray  for- 
give me.  You  see  how  I  am  circumstanced.  Permit 
me  to  show  you  to  the  door." 

"You  swear,  sir,  to  carry  out  all  our  directions  and 
to  dot  down — " 

"I  do.  I  swear  solemnly  to  dot  down — if  you  will 
only — this  way.  Take  care  of  the  mat." 

"We  trust  you,  Mr.  Vivian,"  said  Madame,  with 
majestic  pathos.  "A  wife,  a  mother  trusts  you.  Placens 
uxus!  Mater  familiaris." 

"I  pledge  my  honour.  This  is  the — no,  no,  not  that 
way,  not  that  way !" 

The  worthy  couple,  by  mistake,  no  doubt,  were  pro- 
ceeding towards  the  grand  staircase,  having  missed 
the  way  to  the  hall  door,  and  as  the  Prophet,  following 
them  up  with  almost  unimaginable  activity,  drew  near 
enough  to  drum  the  right  direction  on  their  backs,  Lady 
Enid  became  visible  on  the  landing  above.  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius perceived  her. 

"Why,  it's  Miss  Minerv — "  he  began. 

"This  way,  this  way!"  cried  the  Prophet,  wheeling 
them  round  and  driving  them,  but  always  like  a  thor- 
ough gentleman,  towards  the  square. 

"Then  she  leads  a  double  life,  too !"  said  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius, solemnly,  fixing  his  strained  eyes  upon  the 
Prophet. 

"She?    Who?"  said  Madame,  sharply. 

She  had  not  seen  Lady  Enid. 

"All  of  us,  my  love,  all  of  us,"  returned  her  husband, 
as  the  Prophet  succeeded  in  shepherding  them  on  to 
the  pavement. 


130    The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

"Good-bye,"  he  cried. 

With  almost  inconceivable  rapidity  he  shut  the  door. 
As  he  did  so  two  vague  echoes  seemed  to  faint  on  his 
ear.  One  was  male,  a  dreamlike — "First  post,  Thurs- 
day !"  The  other  was  female,  a  fairylike — "Jaclwn 
alea  sunt." 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   PROPHET   BEGINS   TO   CARRY  OUT   HIS   DIRECTIONS 

"MR.  FERDINAND,"  said  the  Prophet  the  same  even- 
ing, after  he  had  dressed  for  dinner,  "what  has  become 
of  the  telescope?" 

He  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  not  unlike  that  of  a  con- 
firmed conspirator,  and  glanced  rather  furtively  around 
him,  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard. 

"I  have  removed  it,  sir,  according  to  your  orders," 
replied  Mr.  Ferdinand,  also  displaying  some  uneasiness. 

"Yes,  yes.    Where  have  you  placed  it?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  understood  you  to  say  I  might  throw  it 
in  Piccadilly,  if  I  so  wished." 

The  Prophet  suddenly  displayed  relief. 

"I  see.    You  have  done  so." 

"Well,  no,  sir." 

The  Prophet's  face  fell. 

"Then  where  is  it?" 

"Well,  sir,  for  the  moment  I  have  set  it  in  the  butler's 
pantry." 

"Indeed !" 

"I  thought  it  might  be  of  use  there,  sir,"  continued 
Mr.  Ferdinand,  in  some  confusion,  which,  however, 
was  not  noticed  by  the  Prophet.  "Of  great  use  to — 
to  Gustavus  and  me  in — in  our  duties,  sir." 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  returned  the  Prophet,  ab- 
stractedly. 


"Did  you  wish  it  to  be  taken  to  the  drawing-room 
again,  sir?" 

The  Prophet  started. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  said.  "On  no  account.  As  you 
very  rightly  say — a  butler's  pantry  is  the  place  for 
a  telescope.  It  can  be  of  great  service  there." 

His  fervour  surprised  Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  began  to 
wonder  whether,  by  any  chance,  his  master  knew  of 
the  Lord  Chancellor's  agreeable-looking  second-cook. 
After  pausing  a  moment  respectfully,  Mr.  Ferdinand 
was  about  to  decamp  when  the  Prophet  checked  him 
with  a  gesture. 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Ferdinand!" 

"Sir?" 

"One  moment !" 

Mr.  Ferdinand  stood  still.  The  Prophet  cleared  his 
throat,  arranged  his  tie,  and  then  said,  with  an  air  of 
very  elaborate  nonchalance, — 

"At  what  time  do  you  generally  go  to  bed,  Mr. 
Ferdinand,  when  you  don't  sit  up?" 

"Sometimes  at  one  time,  sir,  and  sometimes  at  an- 
other." 

"That's  rather  ambiguous." 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir." 

"What  is  your  usual  hour  for  being  quite — that  is, 
entirely  in  bed." 

"Entirely  in  bed,  sir?" 

Mr.  Ferdinand's  fine  bass  voice  vibrated  with  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes.  Not  partially  in  bed,  but  really  and  truly  in 
bed?" 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Ferdinand,  with  decided 
dignity,  "when  I  am  in  bed,  sir,  I  am." 


The  Prophet  Begins  His  Directions     133 

"And  when's  that?" 

"By  twelve,  sir." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  cried  the  Prophet,  with  slightly 
theatrical  solicitude.  "You  sit  up  too  late,  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand." 

"I  hope,  sir,  that  I — " 

"That's  what  makes  you  so  pale,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  and 
delicate." 

"Delicate,  sir!"  cried  Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  had  in 
fact  been  hopelessly  robust  from  the  cradle,  totally  in- 
capable of  acquiring  even  the  most  universal  com- 
plaints, and,  moreover,  miraculously  exempt  from  that 
wrell-recognised  affliction  of  the  members  of  his  profes- 
sion so  widely  known  as  "butlers  feet." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Prophet,  emphatically.  "You  should 
be  in  bed,  thoroughly  in  bed,  by  a  quarter  to  eleven. 
And  Gustavus  too !  He  is  young,  and  the  young  can't 
be  too  careful.  Begin  to-night,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  I 
speak  for  your  health's  sake,  believe  me." 

So  saying  the  Prophet  hurried  away,  leaving  Mr. 
Ferdinand  almost  as  firmly  rooted  to  the  Turkey  carpet 
with,  surprise  as  if  he  had  been  woven  into  the  pattern 
at  birth,  and  never  unpicked  in  later  years. 

At  ten  that  evening  the  Prophet,  having  escaped  early 
from  his  dinner  on  some  extravagant  plea  of  sudden 
illness  or  second  gaiety,  stood  in  the  small  and  sober 
passage  of  the  celebrated  Tintack  Club  and  inquired 
anxiously  for  Mr.  Robert  Green. 

"Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Green  is  upstairs  in  the  smoke-room," 
said  the  functionary  whom  the  club  grew  under  glass 
for  the  benefit  of  the  members  and  their  friends. 

"Sam,  show  this  gentleman  to  Mr.  Green." 

Sam,  who  was  a  red-faced  child  in  buttons,  with 


1 34     The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

a  man's  walk  and  the  back  of  one  who  knew  as  much 
as  most  people,  obeyed  this  command,  and  ushered  the 
Prophet  into  a  room  with  a  sealing-wax  red  paper,  in 
which  Robert  Green  was  sitting  alone,  smoking  a  large 
cigar  and  glancing  at  the  "stony-broke  edition"  of  an 
evening  paper.  He  greeted  the  Prophet  with  his  usual 
unaffected  cordiality,  offered  him  every  drink  that  had 
yet  been  invented,  and,  on  his  refusal  of  them  all, 
handed  him  a  cigar  and  a  matchbox,  and  whistled  "Ta- 
ra-ra-boom-de-av"  at  him  in  the  most  friendly  manner 
possible. 

"Bob,"  said  the  Prophet,  taking  a  very  long  time  to 
light  the  cigar,  "what,  in  your  opinion,  is  the  exact 
meaning  of  the  term  honour?" 

Mr.  Green's  cheerful,  though  slightly  belated,  face 
assumed  an  expression  of  genial  betwaddlement. 

"Oh,  well,  Hen,"  he  said,  "exact  meaning  you  know's 
not  so  easy.  But — hang  it,  we  all  understand  the  thing, 
eh,  without  sticking  it  down  in  words.  What?" 

"I  don't,  Bob,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  in  the  tone  of 
a  man  at  odds  with  several  consciences.  "In  what 
direction  does  honour  lie  ?" 

"It  don't  lie  at  all,  old  chap,"  said  Mr.  Green,  with 
the  decided  manner  which  had  made  him  so  universally 
esteemed  in  yeomanry  circles. 

The  Prophet  began  to  look  very  much  distressed. 

"Look  here,  Bob,  I'll  put  it  in  this  way,"  he  said. 
"Would  an  honourable  man  feel  bound  to  keep  a 
promise  ?" 

"Rather." 

"Yes,  but  would  he  feel  bound  to  keep  two  prom- 
ises?" 

"Rather,  if  he'd  made  'em." 


The  Prophet  Begins  His  Directions      135 

'Suppose  he  had!" 

"Go  ahead,  Hen,  I'm  supposing,"  said  Mr.  Green, 
beginning  to  pucker  his  brows  and  stare  very  hard 
indeed  in  the  endeavour  to  keep  the  supposition  fixed 
firmly  in  his  head. 

"And,  further,  suppose  that  these  two  promises  were 
diametrically  opposed  to  one  another." 

Mr.  Green  stuck  out  one  leg,  looked  obliquely  at  the 
carpet,  pressed  his  lips  together  and  nodded. 

"So  that  if  he  fulfilled  them  both  he'd  have  to  break 
them  both—" 

"Stop  a  sec!    Gad,  I've  lost  it!    Start  again,  Hen!" 

"No,  I  mean  so  that  if  he  didn't  break  one  he  would 
be  forced  to  break  the  other.  Have  you  got  that?" 

"Stop  a  bit !    Don't  believe  I  have.    Let's  see !" 

He  moved  his  lips  silently,  repeating  the  Prophet's 
words. 

"Yes.  I've  got  that  all  right  now,"  he  said,  after 
three  minutes  of  strenuous  mental  exertion. 

"Well,  what  would  you  say  of  him  ?" 

"That  he  was  a  damned  fool." 

The  Prophet  looked  very  much  upset. 

"No,  no,  Bob,  I  meant  to  him.  What  would  you 
say  to  him?" 

"That  he  was  a  damned  fool." 

The  Prophet  began  to  appear  thoroughly  broken 
down.  However,  he  still  stuck  to  his  interpellation. 

"Very  well,  Bob,"  he  said,  with  unutterable  resigna- 
tion— as  of  a  toad  beneath  the  harrow — "but,  putting 
all  that  aside — " 

"Give  us  a  chance,  Hen !  I've  got  to  shunt  all  that, 
have  I  ?" 

"Yes,  at  least  all  you  would  say  of,  and  to,  the  man." 


136     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"Oh,  only  that.  Wait  a  bit!  Yes,  I've  done  that. 
Drive  on  now!" 

"Putting  all  that  aside,  what  should  you  advise  the 
man  to  do?" 

"Not  to  be  such  a  damned  fool  again." 

"No,  no!    I  mean  about  the  two  promises?" 

"What  about 'em?" 

"Which  would  his  sense  of  honour  compel  him  to 
keep?" 

"I  shouldn't  think  such  a  damned  fool'd  got  a  sense 
of  honour." 

The  Prophet  winced,  but  he  stuck  with  feverish 
obstinacy  to  his  point. 

"Yes,  Bob,  he  had." 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Hen,  'pon  my  word  I  don't.  You'll 
always  find  that  damned  f — " 

"Bob,  I  must  beg  you  to  take  it  from  me.  He  had. 
Now  which  promise  should  he  keep?" 

"Who'd  he  made  'em  to?" 

"Who?"  said  the  Prophet,  wavering. 

"Yes." 

"One  to — to  a  very  near  and  dear  relative,  the  other 
to — well,  Bob,  to  two  comparative  strangers." 

"What  sort  of  strangers." 

"The  sort  of  strangers  who — who  live  beside  a  river, 
and  who — who  mix  principally  with — well,  in  fact, 
with  architects  and  their  wives." 

"Rum  sort  of  strangers  ?" 

"They  are  decidedly." 

"Oh,  then,  you  know  'em  ?" 

"That's  not  the  point,"  exclaimed  the  Prophet, 
hastily.  "The  point  is  which  promise  is  to  be  kept." 


The  Prophet  Begins  His   Directions      1 37 

"I  should  say  the  one  made  to  the  relative.  Wait 
a  bit,  though !  Yes,  I  should  say  that." 

The  Prophet  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  But  some 
dreadful  sense  of  honesty  within  him  compelled  him 
to  add, — 

"I  forgot  to  say  that  he'd  pledged  his  honour  to  the 
architects — that  is,  to  the  strangers  who  lived  beside 
a  river." 

"What — and  not  pledged  it  to  the  relative  ?" 

"Well,  no." 

"Then  he  ought  to  stick  to  the  promise  he'd  pledged 
his  honour  over,  of  course.  Nice  for  the  relative !  The 
man's  a  damned  fool,  Hen.  Do  have  a  drink,  old  chap." 

Thus  did  Mr.  Robert  Green  drive  the  Prophet  to 
take  the  first  decisive  step  that  was  to  lead  to  so  many 
complications, — the  step  towards  Mr.  Ferdinand's 
pantry. 

At  precisely  a  quarter  to  eleven  p.m.  the  Prophet 
stood  upon  his  doorstep  and,  very  gently  indeed,  in- 
serted his  latchkey  into  the  door.  A  shaded  lamp  was 
burning  in  the  deserted  hall,  where  profound  silence 
reigned.  Clear  was  the  night  and  starry.  As  the 
Prophet  turned  to  close  the  door  he  perceived  the  busy 
crab,  and  the  thought  of  his  beloved  grandmother, 
sinking  now  to  rest  on  the  second  floor  all  unconscious 
of  the  propinquity  of  the  scorpion,  the  contiguity  of  the 
serpent,  filled  his  expressive  eyes  with  tears.  He  shut 
the  door,  stood  in  the  hall  and  listened.  He  heard  a 
chair  crack,  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  There  was  no  other 
sound,  and  he  felt  certain  that  Mr.  Ferdinand  and  Gus- 
tavus  had  heeded  his  anxious  medical  directions  and 
gone  entirely  to  bed  betimes,  leaving  the  butler's  pantry 


138    The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

free  for  the  nocturnal  operations  of  the  victim  of 
Madame.  For  he  recognised  that  she  was  the  guiding 
spirit  of  the  family  that  dwelt  beside  the  Mouse.  He 
might  have  escaped  out  of  the  snare  of  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
but  Madame  was  a  fowler  who  would  hold  him  fast  till 
she  had  satisfied  herself  once  and  for  all  whether  it 
were  indeed  possible  to  dwell  in  the  central  districts, 
within  reach  of  the  Army  and  Navy  heaven  in  Victoria 
Street,  and  yet  to  remain  a  prophet.  Yes,  he  must  now 
work  for  the  information  of  her  ambitious  soul.  He 
sighed  deeply  and  went  softly  up  the  stairs.  His  cham- 
ber was  on  the  same  floor  as  Mrs.  Merillia's,  and,  as  he 
neared  her  door,  he  rose  instinctively  upon  his  toes  and, 
grasping  the  tails  of  his  evening  coat  firmly  with  his 
left  hand,  to  prevent  any  chance  rustling  of  their  satin 
lining,  and  bearing  his  George  the  Third  silver  candle- 
stick steadily  to  control  any  clattering  of  its  extin- 
guisher, he  moved  on  rather  like  a  thief  who  was  also 
a  trained  ballerina,  holding  his  breath  and  pressing  his 
lips  together  in  a  supreme  agony  of  dumbness. 

Unluckily  he  tripped  in  the  raised  pattern  of  the 
carpet,  the  candlestick  uttered  a  silver  note,  his  pent-in 
breath  escaped  with  a  loud  gulp,  and  Mrs.  Merillia's 
delicate  voice  cried  out  from  behind  her  shut  door, — 

"Hennessey !     Hennessey !" 

The  Prophet  bit  his  lip  and  went  at  once  into  her 
room. 

Mrs.  Merillia  looked  simply  charming  in  bed,  with 
her  long  and  elegant  head  shaded  by  a  beautiful 
muslin  helmet  trimmed  with  lace,  and  a  delicious  em- 
broidered wrapper  round  her  shoulders.  The  Prophet 
stood  beside  her,  shading  the  candle-flame  with  his 
hand. 


The  Prophet  Begins  His  Directions  •*  139 

"Well,  grannie,  dear,"  he  said,  "what  is  it?  You 
ought  to  be  asleep." 

"I  never  sleep  before  twelve.  Have  you  had  a  pleas- 
ant dinner?" 

"Very.  Stanyer  Phelps,  the  American,  was  there 
and  very  witty.  And  we  had  a  marvellous  supreme 
de  volatile.  Everybody  asked  after  you." 

Mrs.  Merillia  nodded,  like  an  accustomed  queen  who 
receives  her  due.  She  knew  very  well  that  she  was 
the  most  popular  old  woman  in  London,  knew  it  too 
well  to  think  about  it. 

"Well,  good-night,  grannie." 

The  Prophet  bent  to  kiss  her,  his  heart  filled  with 
compunction  at  the  thought  of  the  promise  he  was 
about  to  break.  It  seemed  to  him  almost  more  than 
'sacrilegious  to  make  of  this  dear  and  honoured  orna- 
ment of  old  age  a  vehicle  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
vulgar  ambitions  and  disagreeable  curiosity  of  the 
couple  who  dwelt  beside  the  Mouse. 

"Good-night,  my  dear  boy." 

She  kissed  him,  then  added, — 

"You  like  Lady  Enid,  don't  you?" 

"Very  much." 

"So  does  Robert  Green.  He  thinks  her  such  a  thor- 
oughly sensible  girl." 

"Bob!  Does  he?"  said  the  Prophet,  concealing  a 
slight  smile. 

"Yes.  If  you  want  her  to  get  on  with  you,  Hen- 
nessey, you  should  come  up  to  tea  when  she  is 
here." 

"I  couldn't  to-day,  grannie." 

"You  were  really  busy?" 

"Very  busy  indeed." 


140    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  suppose  you  only  saw  her  for  a  moment  on  the 
stairs  ?" 

"That  was  all." 

It  was  true,  for  Lady  Enid  had  scarcely  stayed  to 
speak  to  the  Prophet,  having  hurried  out  in  the  hope 
of  discovering  who  were  the  "two  parties"  he  had  been 
entertaining  on  the  ground  floor. 

Mrs.  Merillia  dropped  the  subject. 

"Good-night,  Hennessey,"  she  said.  "Go  to  bed  at 
once.  You  look  quite  tired.  I  am  so  thankful  you 
have  given  up  that  horrible  astronomy." 

The  Prophet  did  not  reply,  but,  as  he  went  out  of 
the  room,  he  knew,  for  the  first  time,  what  criminals 
with  consciences  feel  like  when  they  are  engaged  in 
following  their  dread  profession. 

As  he  walked  across  the  landing  he  heard  a  clock 
strike  eleven.  He  started,  hastened  into  his  room,  tore 
off  his  coat,  replaced  it  with  a  quilted  smoking- jacket, 
sprang  lightly  to  his  table,  seized  a  planisphere,  or 
star-map,  which  he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  that 
night  from  a  small  working  astronomer's  shop  in  the 
Edgeware  Road,  and,  mindful  of  the  terms  of  his  oath 
and  the  decided  opinion  of  Robert  Green,  scurried 
hastily,  but  very  gingerly,  down  the  stairs.  This  time 
Mrs.  Merillia  did  not  hear  him.  She  had  indeed  be- 
come absorbed  in  a  new  romance,  written  by  a  very 
rising  young  Montenegrin  who  was  just  then  making 
some  stir  in  the  literary  circles  of  the  elect. 

Very  surreptitiously  the  Prophet  tripped  across  the 
hall  and  reached  the  stout  door  which  gave  access  to 
the  servants'  quarters.  But  here  he  paused.  Although 
he  had  lived  in  Mrs.  Merillia's  most  comfortable  home 
for  at  least  fifteen  years,  he  had  actually  never  once 


The  Prophet  Begins  His  Directions      141 

penetrated  beyond  this  door.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  to  do  so.  Often  he  had  approached  it.  Quite 
recently,  when  Mrs.  Fancy  Quinglet  had  broken  into 
tears  on  the  refusal  of  Sir  Tiglath  Butt  to  burst  accord- 
ing to  her  prediction,  he  had  handed  her  to  this  very 
portal.  But  he  had  never  passed  through  it,  nor  did 
he  know  what  lay  beyond.  No  doubt  there  was  a  kit- 
chen, very  probably  the  mysterious  region  of  watery 
activities  commonly  known  as  a  scullery,  quite  certainly 
a  butler's  pantry.  But  where  each  separate  sanctum 
lay,  and  what  should  be  the  physiognomy  of  each  one 
the  Prophet  had  not  the  vaguest  idea.  As  he  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door  he  felt  like  Sir  Henry  Stanley, 
when  that  intrepid  explorer  first  set  foot  among  the 
leafy  habitations  of  the  dwarfs. 

As  the  door  opened  the  Prophet  found  himself  in 
a  large  apartment  whose  walls  were  decorated  with 
the  efforts  of  those  great  painters  who  feed  the  senti- 
mental imaginations  of  the  masses  in  the  beautiful 
Christmas  numbers  of  our  artistic  day.  Enchanting 
little  girls  and  exceedingly  human  dogs  observed  his 
entrance  from  every  hand,  while  such  penetrating  and 
suggestive  legends  as  "Don't  bite!"  "Mustn't!" 
"Naughty!"  "Would  'urns?"  and  the  like,  filled  his 
mind  with  the  lofty  thoughts  so  suitable  to  the  Christ- 
inas season.  Over  the  mantelpiece  was  a  Cook's 
Almanac  for  the  Home,  decorated  in  bright  colours, 
a  Butler's  own  book,  bound  in  claret-coloured  linen, 
and  a  large  framed  photograph  of  Francatelli,  that 
immortal  chef  whose  memory  is  kept  green  in  so  many 
kitchens,  and  whose  recipes  are  still  followed  as  are 
followed  the  footprints  of  the  great  ones  in  the  Ever- 
lasting Sands  of  Time.  One  corner  of  the  room  Gus- 


142    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

tavus  had  made  his  own,  and  here  might  be  seen  his 
tasteful  what-not  and  his  little  library — neatly  arranged 
unabridged  farthing  editions  of  Drummond's  Ascent 
of  Man,  Mill's  Liberty,  Crampton's  Origin  of  Self- 
Respect,  Barlow's  A  Philosophical  Examination  into 
the  Art  and  Practice  of  Tipping  and  Receiving  Tips, 
and  other  volumes  suitable  for  an  intellectual  foot- 
man's reading.  An  eight-day  clock,  which  was  care- 
fully and  lovingly  wound  up  by  the  prudent  Mrs. 
Fancy  Quinglet  every  morning  and  evening,  snored 
peacefully  in  a  recess  by  the  hearth,  and,  from  a  crevice 
near  the  window,  the  bright,  intelligent  eyes  of  a  couple 
of  well-developed  black-beetles — mother  and  son — 
contentedly  surveyed  the  cheerful  scene. 

The  Prophet,  after  a  moment's  pause  of  contempla- 
tion, passed  on  through  a  swing  door,  covered  with 
green  baize,  and  down  some  stairs  to  the  inner  courts 
of  this  interesting  region.  This  time  he  came  to 
anchor  in  a  room  which,  he  thought,  might  well  have 
been  a  butler's  pantry  had  it  contained  a  large-sized 
telescope.  It  was  in  fact  the  parlour  set  apart  for  the 
use  of  the  kitchen  and  scullery  maids,  and  was  brightly 
fitted  up  with  a  dresser,  a  cupboard  for  skewers,  a 
rolling-pin,  a  basting  machine,  and  other  similar  ad- 
juncts. It  gave  on  to  the  kitchen,  in  which  the  cat  of 
the  house  was  enjoying  well-earned  slumber  in  the 
attitude  of  a  black  ball.  So  far  his  exploring  tour  had 
quite  fulfilled  the  rather  vague  expectations  of  the 
Prophet,  but  he  now  began  to  feel  anxious.  Time  was 
passing  on  and  he  had  sworn  to  be  at  the  telescope  by 
eleven  sharp.  He  had,  therefore,  already  slightly 
fractured  his  oath,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  earn  the 
anathema  of  all  such  men  as  Robert  Green  by  breaking 


The  Prophet  Begins  His  Directions      143 

it  into  small  pieces.  Where  was  the  butler's  pantry? 
He  glanced  eagerly  round  the  kitchen,  perceived  a 
door,  passed  through  it,  and  found  himself  confronted 
by  a  sink.  He  had  gained  the  scullery,  but  not  his 
goal.  To  the  right  of  the  sink  was  yet  another  door 
through  which  the  Prophet,  who  carried  the  plani- 
sphere in  one  hand,  the  George  the  Third  candlestick 
in  the  other,  rather  excitedly  debouched  into  a  good- 
sized  passage.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  the  muffled  alto 
voice  of  the  eight-day  clock  proclaim  that  it  was  a 
quarter-past  eleven.  Feeling  that  he  was  now  upon 
the  point  of  breaking  both  the  promises  of  the  damned 
fool,  the  Prophet  hastened  along  the  passage,  darted 
through  the  first  outlet,  and  found  himself  abruptly 
face  to  back  with  what  appeared  at  first  glance  to  be 
an  enormously  broad  and  bow-legged  dwarf,  with  a 
bald  head  and  a  black  tail  coat,  which,  in  an  attitude 
of  savage  curiosity,  was  gazing  through  a  gigantic 
instrument,  whose  muzzle  projected  from  an  open 
window  into  a  spacious  area.  So  great  was  the 
Prophet's  surprise,  so  supreme  the  shock  to  his  whole 
nervous  system  occasioned  by  this  unexpected  encoun- 
ter, that  he  did  not  utter  a  cry.  His  amazement  carried 
him  into  that  terrible  region  which  lies  beyond  the 
realms  of  speech.  He  simply  stood  quite  still  and 
gazed  at  the  bow-legged  dwarf,  which,  in  its  turn,  con- 
tinued to  gaze  savagely  through  the  gigantic  instru- 
ment into  the  area.  Not  for  perhaps  three  or  four 
minutes  did  the  Prophet  realise  that  this  dwarf  was 
merely  an  ingeniously  shortened  form  of  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand, who,  with  his  legs  very  wide  apart,  and  making 
two  accurate  right  angles  at  their  respective  knee- 
joints,  his  head  thrown  well  back,  and  his  arms  ar- 


144    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

ranged  in  two  perfect  capital  V's,  with  the  elbows 
pointing  directly  at  the  walls  on  either  side  of  him,  had 
been  busily  engaged  for  the  last  hour  and  a  quarter 
in  trying  to  focus  firstly  the  Lord  Chancellor's  house 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  square,  and  secondly  the 
pleasant-looking  second-cook  in  it.  That  his  chivalrous 
efforts  had  not  yet  been  crowned  with  complete  success 
will  be  understood  when  we  say  that  he  had  seen 
during  his  first  half-hour  of  contemplation  nothing  at 
all,  during  his  second  half-hour  the  left-hand  top  star 
of  the  Great  Bear,  and  finally  the  fourth  spike  from  the 
end  of  the  iron  railing  which  enclosed  the  square  gar- 
den, at  which  he  had  been  gazing  closely  for  precisely 
fifteen  minutes  and  a  half  when  the  Prophet  darted 
into  the  pantry. 

Having  at  length  recovered  from  his  shock  of  sur- 
prise sufficiently  to  realise  that  the  enormous  and 
immobile  dwarf  was  Mr.  Ferdinand,  and  that  Mr. 
Ferdinand  was  not  yet  aware  of  his  presence,  the 
Prophet  resolved  to  beat  a  rapid  and  noiseless  retreat. 
He  carried  this  resolve  into  execution  by  turning 
sharply  round,  knocking  his  head  against  a  plate  chest, 
firing  the  George  the  Third  candlestick  into  the  pas- 
sage, and  letting  the  planisphere  go  into  the  china  jar 
of  "Butler's  own  special  pomade"  which  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand kept  always  open  for  use  upon  the  pantry  table. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Ferdinand  ceased  from  looking 
through  the  telescope  for  the  Lord  Chancellor's  second- 
cook  at  this  juncture  would,  perhaps,  not  convey  quite 
a  fair  idea  of  the  activity  which  he  could  on  occasion 
display  even  at  his  somewhat  advanced  age.  It  might 
be  more  just  to  state  that,  without  wasting  any  precious 
time  in  useless  elongation,  he  described  an  exceedingly 


The  Prophet   Begins  His  Directions      145 

rapid  circular  movement,  still  preserving  the  shortened 
form  of  himself  which  had  so  deceived  and  startled  his 
master,  and  brought  his  eye  from  the  orifice  of  the 
telescope  to  a  level  with  the  Prophet's  knees  exactly  at 
the  moment  when  the  Prophet  rebounded  from  the 
plate  chest  into  the  centre  of  the  apartment. 

"Oh,  is  it  you,  Mr.  Ferdinand?"  said  the  Prophet, 
controlling  every  symptom  of  anguish,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  rapid  flutter  of  the  eyelids.  "I  was  looking 
for — for  a  bradawl." 

The  Prophet's  choice  of  this  useful  little  implement 
as  the  reason  for  his  presence  in  Mr.  Ferdinand's 
special  sanctum  was  prompted  by  the  fact  that,  just 
as  he  was  speaking,  he  happened  to  see  a  bradawl 
lying  upon  a  neighbouring  knife  cupboard  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  corkscrew. 

"And  here,  I  see,  is  just  what  I  want,"  he  added 
calmly. 

So  far  he  had  displayed  extraordinary  composure, 
but  at  this  point  he  made  a  slight  mistake,  for  he  picked 
up  the  corkscrew  and  sauntered  quietly  away  with  it 
into,  the  darkness,  leaving  Mr.  Ferdinand  still  in  the 
attitude  of  a  Toby  jug,  the  planisphere  still  head  down- 
wards in  the  butler's  own  special  pomade,  and  the 
George  the  Third  candlestick  stretched  at  full  length 
upon  the  passage  floor. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE    PROPHET    AND    MALKIEL    THE    SECOND    CONVERSE 
BY   TELEGRAM 

"HENNESSEY  VIVIAN,  1000  Berkeley  Square,  W. 

"Please  wire  result  of  last  night's  observations  from 
eleven  till  three  inclusive. — Sagittarius." 

"Jupiter  Sagittarius,  Sagittarius  Lodge,  Crampton 
St.  Peter,  N. 

"Impossible  wire  result,  will  write  at  length  after 
taking  further  observations  to-night. — Vivian." 

"Certainly  write  at  length,  but  meanwhile  wire  all 
important  results  in  condensed  form. — Sagittarius." 

"Results  not  sufficiently  important  to  wire,  letter 
without  fail  to-morrow. — Vivian." 

"Never  mind  unimportance,  wire  whatever  results 
obtained. — Sagittarius." 

"On  consideration  think  results  too  important  to 
wire,  will  explain  by  letter. — Vivian." 

"Your  second  and  third  wires  in  direct  contradic- 
tion; kindly  reconcile  opposing  statements. — Sagitta- 
rius." 

"Cannot  reconcile  by  wire,  will  do  so  by  letter. — 
Vivian." 


The  Prophet  and  Malkiel  Converse      147 

"Then  meanwhile  request  forecast  of  grandmother 
so  far  as  gathered  last  night. — Sagittarius." 

"Quite  impossible  discuss  grandmother  by  wire. — 
Vivian." 

"Not  at  all ;  couch  in  careful  terms,  shall  understand ; 
no  need  put  grandmother's  name. — Sagittarius." 

"Quite  impossible;  grandmother  too  sacred  for 
treatment  by  wire,  long  and  full  letter  to-morrow. — 
Vivian." 

"Absurd!  Call  her  Harry  and  wire  her  future  as 
obtained  last  night;  shall  understand. — Sagittarius." 

"Cannot  possibly  consent  call  grandmother  Harry; 
pray  cease;  succession  of  telegraph  boys  to  house  at- 
tracting general  attention  in  square. — Vivian." 

"Must  insist;  then  call  her  Susan  and  wire. — Sagit- 
tarius." 

"Cannot  possibly  consent  call  her  Susan ;  discussion 
of  such  matter  by  wire  not  decent;  regret  must  abso- 
lutely decline. — Vivian." 

"Madame  and  self  insulted  by  accusation  not  decent ; 
demand  explanation  and  apology. — Sagittarius." 

"Regret ;  no  desire  give  pain  to  lady,  but  this  must 
cease;  grandmother  and  square  seriously  upset  by 
procession  of  telegraph  boys. — Vivian." 

"Cannot  help  square  and  grandmother;  must  have 
last  night's  result  to  compare  with  own  observation  of 
grandmother  with  crab  and  scorpion. — Sagittarius." 

"Pray  cease;  would  rather  die  than  discuss  grand- 
mother with  crab  and  scorpion  by  wire. — Vivian." 

"Rubbish !  Call  crab  Susan,  scorpion  Jane,  grand- 
mother Harry,  and  wire;  absolutely  insist. — Sagitta- 
rius." 


148     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"Absolutely  decline  discuss  crab,  scorpion  and 
grandmother  by  wire ;  final. — Vivian." 

"Scandalous !  not  behaviour  of  gentleman ;  Madame 
cut  to  heart ;  infamous. — Sagittarius." 

"Mater  familiaris  pallidibus  ira. — Madame  Sagitta- 
rius." 

"If  receive  no  reply  as  to  grandmother  and  crab,  et 
cetera,  shall  start  at  once  for  Square. — Jupiter  and 
Madame  Sagittarius." 

"On  no  account  trouble  come  up ;  going  out  immedi- 
ately; important  engagement. — Vivian." 

"Madame  putting  on  boots. — Sagittarius." 

"Utterly  useless  put  on  boots;  leaving  house. — 
Vivian." 

"Madame  boots  on;  tying  bonnet. — Sagittarius." 

"Totally  useless  tie  bonnet;  absolutely  forced  leave 
house. — Vivian." 

"Madame  in  pelisse;  shall  come  in  wait  till  your 
return. — Sagittarius." 

"Regret  pelisse;  quite  useless;  out  till  late  evening. 
—Vivian." 

"Shall  stay  till  whatever  hour;  have  on  hat  and 
bonnet  now;  starting. — Jupiter  and  Madame  Sagitta- 
rius." 

"For  Heaven's  sake  don't;  will  wire  whatever  you 
wish. — Vivian." 

"Don't.  Ankles  perhaps  catching;  dangerous  Capri- 
cornus. — Vivian." 

"Have  you  started? — Vivian." 

"Have  not  started,  but  at  threshold  of  door;  wire 
full  explanation  of  crab  with  grandmother,  et  cetera, 
last  night  or  shall  start  instanter. — Jupiter  and  Mad- 
ame Sagittarius." 


The  Prophet  and  Malkiel   Converse      149 

"Truth  is  very  little  result  last  night;  did  not  see 
crab  with  grandmother;  deeply  regret. — Vivian." 

"Then  wire  result  of  scorpion  with  grandmother. — 
Sagittarius." 

"Very  sorry  did  not  see  scorpion  with  grandmother. 
—Vivian." 

"Impossible;  believe  stars  out;  clear  sky;  self  and 
Madame  distinctly  observed  crab  and  scorpion  with 
grandmother  for  four  hours. — Sagittarius." 

"On  honour  did  not  see  crab,  scorpion  or  grand- 
mother.— Vivian." 
^    "Then  has  grandmother  passed  over  ? — Sagittarius." 

"Certainly  not,  but  no  result;  pray  cease  discussion, 
grandmother  and  square  distracted  by  incessant  uproar 
of  boys  at  door  — Vivian." 

"Leaving  house;  with  you  as  soon  as  possible. — 
Jupiter  and  Madame  Sagittarius." 

"Heaven's  sake  don't;  tell  truth;  did  not  look 
through  telescope  at  all  last  night. — Vivian." 

"What  meaning  of  this  swore  oath  broken;  no 
gentleman ;  coming  at  once  for  explanation. — Jupiter 
and  Madame  Sagittarius." 

"Stop ;  sending  boy  messenger  with  full  explanation ; 
severe  accident  last  night,  injured  head,  so  unable  look 
for  crab,  grandmother  and  scorpion. — Vivian." 

"Astonished,  upset,  Madame  says  not  conduct  gentle- 
man ;  might  have  seen  crab,  grandmother  and  scorpion 
with  injured  head ;  mere  excuse — caput  mortuus 
decrepitum  cancer. — Sagittarius." 

"Pray  excuse ;  look  to-night  without  fail ;  Heaven's 
sake  cease  wiring ;  grandmother  and  whole  square 
amazement,  confusion;  shall  go  mad  if  continues. — 
Vivian." 


150    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Very  well,  but  insist  on  full  letter;  confidence  in 
oath  much  shaken;  wires  most  shifty;  gross  neglect 
of  crab,  grandmother  and  scorpion. — Sagittarius." 

"Homo  miserum  sed  magnum  est  veritatus  et  prae- 
valebetur. — Madame  Sagittarius." 


CHAPTER   XI 

MISS    MINERVA    OPENS    HER    BOOK    OF    REVELATION    IN 
A   CAB 

"ASSURE  the  Lord  Chancellor  that  the  last  boy  has 
been  and  gone — gone  away,  that  is,  Mr.  Ferdinand, 
and  that  I  pledge  my  sacred  word  not  to  have  another 
telegram  to-day." 

"Yes,  sii.  His  lordship  desired  that  you  should  be 
informed  that,  according  to  the  law  regulating  public 
abominations  and  intolerable  street  noises,  you  was 
liable  to—" 

"I  know,  I  know." 

"And  that,  by  the  Act  dealing  with  gross  offences 
against  the  public  order  and  scandalous  crimes  against 
the  peace  of  metropolitan  communities,  you  was  ame- 
nable—" 

"Exactly.    Go  to  his  lordship  and  swear — " 

"I  couldn't  do  that  so  soon  again,  sir,  really.  I  swore 
only  as  short  ago  as  yesterday,  sir,  by  your  express 
order,  but — " 

"I  mean  asseverate  to  his  lordship  that  the  very  last 
boy  has  knocked  for  the  very  last  time." 

"It  wasn't  so  much  the  knocking,  sir,  his  lordship 
complained  of,  as  the  boys  coming  to  the  door  meeting 
the  boys  going  away  from  it,  and  blocking  up  the  pave- 
ment, sir,  so  that  no  one  could  get  past  and — " 


152    The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yes,  yes.  Go  and  asseverate  at  once,  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand." 

"Very  well,  sir.  And  Her  Grace,  the  Duchess  of 
Camberwell,  who  is  passing  from  one  fit  to  another,  sir, 
from  fright  at  the  uproar  and  telegrams  going  to  the 
wrong  house,  sir?" 

"Implore  Her  Grace  to  have  courage  and  to  trust 
me  as  a  gentleman  when  I  promise  solemnly  that  the 
knocking  shall  not  be  renewed." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

"Mr.  Ferdinand !" 

"Sir?" 

"Have  the  knockers  swathed  in  cotton-wool  at  once." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And — fix  a  bulletin  on  the  door.  Wait!  I'll 
write  it." 

The  Prophet  hastened  to  his  writing  table  and,  with 
a  hand  that  trembled  violently,  wrote  on  a  card  as 
follows : — 

"Owner  of  this  house  seriously  ill,  pray  do  not  knock 
or  death  shall  certainly  ensue." 

"There!  Poor  grannie  will  have  peace  now.  Nail 
that  up,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  under  the  cotton-wool." 

"Very  well,  sir.  Mrs.  Merillia,  sir,  would  be  glad  to 
speak  to  you  for  a  moment.  You  remember  I  informed 
you?" 

"I'll  go  to  her  at  once.  But  first  bring  me  a  glass 
of  brandy,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  I'm  feeling  extremely 
unwell." 

And  the  Prophet,  who  was  paler  far  than  ashes,  and 
beaded  from  top  to  toe  with  perspiration,  sank  down 
feebly  upon  a  chair  and  let  his  head  drop  on  the 
blotting-pad  that  lay  on  his  writing  table. 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       153 

When  he  had  swallowed  an  inch  or  two  of  cognac 
he  got  up,  pulled  himself  together  with  both  hands, 
and  walked,  like  an  elderly  person  afflicted  with  incipi- 
ent locomotor  ataxy,  upstairs  into  the  drawing-room 
where  Mrs.  Merillia  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  ministered 
to  by  Fancy  Quinglet,  who,  at  the  moment  of  his  en- 
trance, was  busily  engaged  in  stuffing  a  large  wad  of 
cotton-wool  into  the  right  ear  of  her  beloved  mistress. 

"Leave  us  please,  Fancy,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  much  older  than  usual.  "And  as 
your  head  is  so  bad,  too,  you  had  better  lie  down." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am.  If  I  keep  upright,  ma'am,  I 
feel  my  head  will  split  asunder.  I  can't  speak  different 
nor  feel  other." 

"Then  don't  be  upright." 

"No,  ma'am.  Them  that  feels  other,  let  them  de- 
clare it !"  And  Mrs.  Fancy  retired,  holding  both  hands 
to  her  temples,  and  uttering  very  distinctly  sundry 
stifled  moans. 

Mrs.  Merillia  motioned  the  Prophet  to  a  chair,  and, 
after  lying  quite  still  for  about  five  minutes  with  her 
eyes  tightly  shut,  said  in  a  weak  tone  of  voice, — 

"How  many  more  telegrams  do  you  expect,  Hennes- 
sey? You  have  had  twenty-seven  within  the  last  three 
hours.  Can  you  give  me  a  rough  general  idea  of  the 
average  number  you  anticipate  will  probably  arrive 
every  hour  from  now  till  the  offices  close  ?" 

"Grannie,  grannie,  forgive  me!     I  assure  you — " 

"Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me,  Hennessey.  It  is  much 
better  to  know  the  worst,  and  face  it  bravely.  Will 
the  present  average  be  merely  sustained,  or  do  you 
expect  the  quantity  to  increase  towards  night  ?  because 
if  so—" 


1 54    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Grannie,  there  will  be  no  more.  I  swear  to  you 
solemnly  that  I  will  not  have  another  telegram  to-day. 
I  will  not  upon  my  sacred  honour.  Nothing — not 
wild  horses  even — shall  induce  me." 

"Horses !  Then  were  they  racing  tips,  Hennessey  ? 
Yes,  give  me  the  eau  de  Cologne  and  fan  me  gently. 
Were  they  racing  tips?" 

"Oh,  grannie,  how  could  you  suppose — " 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Ferdinand  entered  softly  and 
went  up  to  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Mr.  Q.  Elisha  Hubsbee,  ma'am.  He  is  deeply  dis- 
tressed and  asks  for  news  .  .  ." 

"The  Central  American  Ambassador's  grandfather," 
said  Mrs.  Merillia,  reading  the  card  which  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand handed  to  her. 

"Shocked  to  hear  you  are  so  ill  that  a  knock  will 
finish  you.  Guess  you  must  be  far  gone.  Earnest 
sympathy.  Have  you  tried  patent  morphia  molasses? 

Q.  E.  H." 

"Ah !  how  things  get  about !  Tell  Mr.  Elisha  Hubs- 
bee  the  knocks  have  nearly  killed  us  all,  Mr.  Ferdinand, 
but  we  are  bearing  up  as  well  as  can  be  expected.  If 
necessary  we  will  certaintly  try  the  molasses." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"It  is  two  o'clock  now,  Hennessey.  The  Charing 
Cross  office  is  open  till  midnight,  I  believe,  so  at  the 
present  rate  you  should  only  have  about  ninety  more 
telegrams  to-day.  But  if  you  have  reason  to  expect — " 

Mr.  Ferdinand  re-entered. 

"Mrs.  Hendrick  Marshall  has  called,  ma'am.  She 
desired  me  to  say  she  was  passing  the  door  and  was 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       155 

much  horrified  to  find  that  you  are  so  near  the  point, 
ma'am." 

"What  point,  Mr.  Ferdinand?" 

"Of  death,  ma'am.    She  had  no  idea  at  all,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  thank  Mrs.  Hendrick  Marshall,  Mr.  Ferdinand, 
and  say  we  shall  try  to  keep  from  the  point  for  the 
present. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

" — That  the  numbers  will  go  up  as  the  afternoon 
draws  on,  Hennessey — " 

"Grannie,  haven't  I  sworn,  and  have  you  ever  known 
me  to  tell  you  a — " 

Suddenly  the  Prophet  stopped  short,  thinking  how 
that  very  night  he  would  be  forced  by  his  oath  to 
"Madame  and  self"  to  break  his  promise  to  his  grand- 
mother, how  already  it  would  have  been  broken  had 
not  Mr.  Ferdinand  on  the  previous  night  been  in  pos- 
session of  the  telescope. 

"The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  ma'am,  desires 
his  compliments,  and  he  begs  you  to  last  out,  if  possi- 
ble, till  he  has  fetched  Sir  William  Broadbent  to  see 
you.  He  is  going  there  on  his  bike,  ma'am,  and  had 
no  conception  you  was  dying  till  he  knew  it  this  mo- 
ment, ma'am." 

"Thank  the  Chancellor,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  and  say  that 
though  we  must  all  go  out  some  day  I  have  no  desire 
for  a  dissolution  at  present,  and  shall  do  my  best  to 
prove  myself  worthy  of  my  constitution." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  retired,  brushing  away  a  tear. 

"It  would  not  be  feasible,  I  suppose,  Hennessey,  to 
station  Gustavus  permanently  at  the  telegraph  office 
with  a  small  hamper,  so  that  he  might  collect  the  wires 


156    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

in  it  as  they  arrive  and  convey  them  here,  once  an 
hour  or  so,  entering  by  the  area  door.  I  thought  per- 
haps that  might  obviate — " 

Mr.  Ferdinand  once  more  appeared,  looking  very 
puffy  about  the  eyes. 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,  La — ady  Julia  Pos — ostle- 
thwaite  is  below,  and  asks  whe — ether  you  are  truly 
going  ma'am?" 

"Going?    Where  to,  Mr.  Ferdinand?" 

"The  other  pla — ace,  ma'am.  Her  ladyship  is  crying 
something  terrible,  ma'am,  and  says,  till  she  no — no — 
noticed  the  fact  she  had  no — no— notion  you  was 
leaving  us  so  soon,  ma'am." 

Here  Mr.  Ferdinand  uttered  a  very  strange  and 
heartrending  sound  that  was  rather  like  the  bark  of 
a  dog  with  a  bad  cold  in  its  head. 

"It  is  really  very  odd  so  many  people  finding  out 
so  soon !"  said  Mrs.  Merillia  in  some  surprise.  "Tell 
her  ladyship,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  that — " 

But  at  this  moment  there  was  the  sound  of  feet  on 
the  stairs,  and  Lady  Enid  Thistle  hurried  into  the 
room,  closely  followed  by  Mr.  Robert  Green.  Lady 
Enid  went  up  at  once  to  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"I  am  so  shocked  and  distressed  to  see  your  news, 
dear  Mrs.  Merillia,"  she  cried  affectionately.  "But," 
she  added,  with  much  inquisitiveness,  "is  it  really  true 
that  if  anyone  tapped  on  the  door  you  would  certainly 
die?  How  can  you  be  so  sure  of  yourself?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  Ah,  Mr.  Green,  how  d'you  do  ? 
See  my  news !" 

"Yes,  written  up  on  the  front  door.  Everyone's 
shocked." 

"Rather!"  said  Mr.  Green,  gazing  at  Mrs.  Merillia 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       157 

with  confused  mournfulness.  "One  don't  see  death 
on  a  front  door  every  day,  don't  you  know,  in  big 
round  hand  too,  and  then  one  of  those  modern  words." 

"Death  on  the  front  door  in  big  round  hand!"  said 
Mrs.  Merillia  in  the  greatest  perplexity. 

"I  put  it,  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet,  humbly.  "I 
wrote  that  if  another  boy  knocked,  death  would  cer- 
tainly ensue." 

"Ensue.  That's  it.  I  knew  it  was  one  of  those  mod- 
ern words,"  said  Mr.  Green. 

"Another  boy?"  said  Lady  Enid.  "Why  should 
another  boy  knock?" 

"Hennessey  receives  about  nine  telegrams  an  hour," 
answered  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"Really!" 

Lady  Enid  looked  at  him  with  keen  interest,  while 
Mrs.  Merillia  continued, — 

"You  had  better  take  death  off  the  door  now,  Mr. 
Ferdinand.  I  feel  more  myself.  Please  thank  her 
ladyship  and  tell  her  so." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

'.'Nine  telegrams  an  hour!"  repeated  Lady  Enid. 
"Mr.  Vivian,  would  you  mind  just  seeing  me  as  far  as 
Hill  Street?  Bob  has  to  go  to  Tattersall's." 

"Have  I,  Niddy?"  asked  Mr.  Green,  with  evident 
surprise. 

"Yes,  to  pick  up  a  polo  pony.    Don't  you  recollect?" 

"A  polo  pony,  was  it  ?    By  Jove !" 

"I  will  come  with  pleasure,"  said  the  poor  Prophet, 
who  felt  fit  only  to  lie  down  quietly  in  his  grave.  "If 
you  don't  mind  being  left,  grannie  ?" 

Mrs.  Merillia  was  looking  pleased. 

"No,  no.  Go  with  Lady  Enid,  my  dear  boy.  If  any 
.telegrams  come  shall  I  open — " 


158     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"No,"  cried  the  Prophet,  with  sudden  fierce  energy. 
"For  mercy's  sake — I  mean,  grannie,  dear,  that  none 
will  come.  If  they  should" — his  ordinary  gentle  eyes 
flamed  almost  furiously — "Mr.  Ferdinand  is  to  burn 
them  unread — yes,  to  ashes.  I  will  tell  him."  And  he 
escorted  Lady  Enid  tumultuously  downstairs,  missing 
his  footing  at  every  second  step. 

In  the  square  they  parted  from  Mr.  Green,  who 
said, — 

"Good-bye,  Niddy,  old  girl.  What  do  I  want  to 
pick  up  at  Tattersall's  ?" 

"A  polo  pony,  Bob,"  she  answered  firmly. 

"Oh,  a  polo  pony.  Thanks.  Chin,  chin,  Hen. 
Polo  pony  is  it?" 

He  strode  off,  whistling"She  wore  a  wreath  of  roses" 
in  a  puzzled  manner,  but  still  preserving  the  accepted 
demeanour  of  a  bulwark. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Green  was  out  of  sight  Lady  Enid 
said, — 

"We  aren't  going  to  Hill  Street." 

"Aren't  we?"  replied  the  Prophet,  feebly. 

"No.  I  must  see  Sir  Tiglath  Butt  to-day.  I  want 
you  to  take  me  to  his  door." 

"Where  is  his  door?" 

"In  Kensington  Square.  Do  you  mind  hailing  a 
four-wheeler.  We  can  talk  privately  there.  No  one 
will  hear  us." 

The  Prophet  hailed  a  growler,  wondering  whether 
they  would  be  able  to  hear  each  other.  As  they  got 
in  Lady  Enid,  after  giving  the  direction,  said  to  the 
cabman,  who  was  a  short  person,  with  curling  ebon 
whiskers,  a  broken-up  expression  and  a  broken-down 
manner. 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       159 

"Drive  slowly,  please,  and  I'll  give  you  an  extra  six- 
pence." 

"Lydy?" 

"Drive  slowly,  and  I'll  give  you  another  sixpence." 

"How  did  yer  think  I  was  gawing  to  drive,  lydy?" 

"I  wonder  why  cabmen  are  always  so  interested  in 
one's  inmost  thoughts,"  said  Lady  Enid,  as  the  horse 
fell  down  preparatory  to  starting. 

"I  wonder." 

"I  hope  he  will  go  slowly." 

"He  seems  to  be  doing  so." 

At  this  point  the  horse,  after  knocking  on  the  front 
of  the  cab  with  his  hind  feet  ten  or  a  dozen  times,  got 
up,  hung  his  head,  and  drew  a  large  number  of  deep 
and  dejected  breaths. 

"Am  I  gawing  slow  enough,  lydy?"  asked  the  cab- 
man, anxiously. 

"Yes,  but  you  can  let  him  trot  along  now." 

"Right,  lydy,  I  ain't  preventing  of  him." 

As  eventually  they  scrambled  slowly  forward  in  the 
Kensington  direction,  Lady  Enid  remarked, — 

"Why  don't  you  have  them  sent  to  Jellybrand's  ?" 

"Have  what  ?"  asked  the  Prophet. 

"Your  telegrams.  The  messages  from  your  double 
life.  I  do." 

"But  I  assure  you — " 

"Mr.  Vivian,  it's  useless  really.  I  find  you  hidden 
away  in  the  inner  room  of  Jellybrand's  with  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius, closely  guarded  by  Frederick  Smith ;  fourpenny 
champagne — " 

"Four  bob — shilling,  I  mean." 

"Oh,  was  it? — Upon  the  table.  After  I've  been 
poisoned,  and  we  are  leaving,  Mr.  Sagittarius  calls 


after  you  such  expressions  as  'Banks  of  the  Mouse — 
hear  from  me — marrow — architects  and  the  last  day.' 
You  are  obviously  agitated  by  these  expressions.  We 
reach  your  house.  I  find  you  have  been  prophesying 
through  a  telescope.  The  name  of  Malkiel — a  well- 
known  prophet — is  mentioned.  You  turn  pale  and 
glance  at  me  imploringly,  as  if  to  solicit  my  silence. 
I  am  silent.  The  next  day  you  announce  that  you 
are  going  to  have  two  afternoon  parties." 

"No,  no,  not  afternoon!  I  never  said  afternoon!" 
interposed  the  Prophet,  frantically,  as  the  horse  fell 
down  again  in  order  to  earn  the  extra  sixpence. 

"Well,  two  parties  in  the  afternoon.  It's  the  same 
thing.  You  say  they  are  odd.  You  yourself  acknowl- 
edge it.  You  tell  me  you  have  secrets." 

"Did  I?" 

"Yes.  When  I  said  I  had  guessed  your  secret  you 
replied,  'Which  one?'" 

"Oh!"  murmured  the  Prophet,  trying  not  to  say 
"come  in!"  to  the  horse,  which  was  again  knocking 
with  both  feet  upon  the  front  of  the  cab. 

"You  go  home.  I  call  during  the  afternoon,  and 
find  that  you  are  entertaining  all  your  guests  in  your 
own  little  room  and  that  your  grandmother  knows 
nothing  of  it  and  believes  you  to  be  working.  As  I 
am  leaving  I  see  the  backs  of  two  of  your  guests.  One 
is  a  pelisse,  the  other  a  spotted  collar.  As  I  near  them 
they  mount  into  a  purple  omnibus  on  which  is  printed 
in  huge  letters,  'To  the  "Pork  Butcher's  Rest" J 

"No !  No !"  ejaculated  the  Prophet,  pale  with  horror 
at  this  revelation. 

"Rest,  Crampton  Vale,  N.  I  lose  them  in  the 
shadows.-  The  next  day  I  call  and  find  your  grand- 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       161 

mother  is  dying  from  the  noise  made  by  boys  bringing 
you  private  telegrams.  And  then  you  tell  me,  me — 
Minerva  Partridge — that  you  have  no  double  life! 
Yes,  you  can  let  him  get  up  now,  please." 

The  cabman  permitted  the  horse  to  do  so  arid  they 
again  struggled  funereally  forward.  The  Prophet  was 
still  very  pale. 

"I  suppose  it  is  useless  to — very  well,"  he  said.  "My 
life  is  double." 

"Ah!" 

"But  only  lately,  quite  lately." 

"Never  mind  that.  Oh !  How  glad  I  am  that  you 
have  had  the  courage  too !  You  will  soon  get  into  it, 
as  I  did.  But  you  should  have  all  your  telegrams  and 
so  forth  directed  to  Jellybrand's." 

"It's  too  late,"  replied  the  Prophet,  dejectedly.  "Too 
late.  I  do  wish  that  horse  wouldn't  fall  down  so  con- 
tinually! It's  most  monotonous." 

"The  poor  man  naturally  wants  the  extra  sixpence. 
I  think  I  shall  give  him  a  shilling.  But  now  who  is 
Mr.  Sagittarius?" 

'-'Who  is  he?" 

"Yes.  I've  seen  him  several  times  at  Jellybrand's, 
and  when  I  first  met  him  I  thought  he  was  an  outside 
broker." 

"You !    Was  it  on  the  pier  at  Margate  ?" 

"Certainly  not!  Really,  Mr.  Vivian!  even  in  my 
double  life  I  occasionally  draw  the  line." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.     I — the  horse  confuses  me." 

"Well,  he's  stopped  knocking  now  and  will  be  up  in 
another  minute.  Who  did  you  say  Mr.  Sagittarius 
was?" 

"I  didn't  say  he  was  anybody,  but  he's  a  man," 


1 62     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I'd  guessed  that." 

"And  an  acquaintance  of  mine." 

"Yes?" 

"I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  rain." 

"It  generally  does  in  Knightsbridge.    Yes?" 

"Is  Sir  Tiglath  likely  to  be  in?" 

"He  knows  I'm  coming.  Well,  you  haven't  told  me 
who  Mr.  Sagittarius  is." 

"Lady  Enid,"  said  the  Prophet,  desperately,  "I  know 
very  little  of  Mr.  Sagittarius  beyond  the  fact  that  he's 
a  man,  which  I've  already  informed  you  of." 

"Is  he  an  outside  broker?" 

"No." 

"Then  he's  Malkiel.    You  can't  deny  it." 

"I  can  deny  anything,"  said  the  Prophet,  who,  pi- 
ready  upset  by  the  events  of  the  day,  was  now  goaded 
almost  to  desperation.  "I  can  and — and  must.  There's 
the  horse  down  again!" 

"I  shall  have  to  give  the  man  one  and  sixpence.  Are 
you  going  to  keep  your  promise  to  Mrs.  Merillia  and 
Sir  Tiglath?" 

To  this  question  the  Prophet  determined  to  give  a 
direct  answer,  in  order  to  draw  Lady  Enid  away  from 
more  dangerous  subjects. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  a  spasm  of  pain. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  be  able  to." 

"Why?" 

"Because  when  one's  once  been  really  and  truly  silly 
it's  impossible  not  to  repeat  the  act,  absolutely  impossi- 
ble. You'll  never  stop  now.  You'll  go  on  from  one 
thing  to  another,  as  I  do." 

"I  cannot  think  that  prophecy  is  silly,"  said  the 
Prophet,  with  some  stiffness. 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       163 

She  looked  at  him  with  frank  admiration. 

"You're  worse  than  I  am!    It's  splendid!" 

"Worse!" 

"Why,  yes.  You're  foolish  enough  to  think  your 
silly  acts  sensible.  I  wish  I  could  get  to  that.  Then 
perhaps  I  could  impose  on  Sir  Tiglath  more  easily 
too." 

She  considered  this  idea  seriously,  as  they  started 
on  again,  and  gradually  got  free  of  the  little  crowd 
that  had  been  sitting  on  the  horse's  head. 

"I  must  impose  upon  him,"  she  said.  "And  you've 
got  to  help  me." 

"I!"  cried  the  Prophet,  feeling  terribly  unequal  to 
everything.  "I  cannot  possibly  consent — " 

"Yes,  dear  Mr.  Vivian,  you  can.  And  if  two  thor- 
oughly silly  people  can't  impose  upon  one  sensible  old 
man,  it  will  be  very  strange  indeed.  And  now  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  what  I  hadn't  time  to  tell  you  yester- 
day." 

She  leaned  forward  and  tapped  sharply  on  the 
rattling  glass  in  front  of  the  cab.  The  cabman,  bend- 
ing down,  twisted  his  whiskers  towards  her. 

"Don't  go  too  fast." 

"I  can't  get  'im  to  fall  down  agyne,  lydy.  'E's  too 
tired." 

"I  daresay.    But  don't  let  him  walk  quite  so  fast." 

She  drew  back. 

"Mr.  Vivian,"  she  said — and  the  Prophet  thought 
she  had  never  looked  more  sensible  than  now,  as  she 
began  this  revelation — "Mr.  Vivian,  among  the  silly 
people  I  have  met  in  my  dear  double  life,  who  do  you 
think  are  the  very  silliest?" 

"The  anti-vaccinators  ?" 


1 64    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"No.  Besides,  they  so  often  have  small-pox  and 
become  quite  sensible." 

"The  atheists?" 

"I  used  to  think  so,  but  not  now.  And  most  of 
those  I  knew  are  Roman  Catholics  at  present." 

"The  women  who  don't  desire  to  be  slaves  ?" 

"There  aren't  any." 

"The  tearers  of  Paderewski's  hair?" 

"I  so  seldom  meet  them,  because  they  all  live  out  in 
the  suburbs." 

"The  tight-lacers?" 

"They  get  red  noses,  poor  things,  and  disappear. 
They're  not  permanent  enough  to  count  as  the  very 
silliest." 

"I  give  it  up." 

"The  Spiritualists  and  the  Christian  Scientists. 
That's  why  I  love  them  best,  and  spend  most  of  my 
double  life  with  them.  How  you  would  get  on  with 
them !  How  much  at  ease  you  would  be  in  their 
midst?" 

"Really!     But  aren't  they  in  opposite  camps?" 

"Dear  things !  They  often  think  so,  I  believe.  But 
really  they  aren't.  Half  the  Christian  Scientists  begin 
as  Spiritualists.  And  a  great  many  Spiritualists  were 
once  Christian  Scientists." 

"Which  are  you?" 

"Both,  of  course." 

"Dear  me!" 

"As  you  will  be  when  you've  got  thoroughly  into 
your  double  life.  Well,  my  greatest  friend — in  my 
double  life,  you  understand — is  a  Mrs.  Vane  Bridge- 
man,  a  Christian  Scientist  and  Spiritualist.  She  is 
very  rich,  and  magnificently  idiotic.  She  supports  all 


Miss  Minerva  Opens  Her  Book       165 

foolish  charities.  She  has  built  almshouses  for 
broken-down  mediums  on  Sunnington  Common  in 
Kent.  She  has  endowed  a  hospital  for  sick  fortune- 
tellers. She  gave  five  hundred  pounds  to  the  home 
for  indigent  thought-readers,  and  nearly  as  much  to 
the  'Palmists'  Seaside  Retreat'  at  Millaby  Bay  near 
Dover.  I  don't  know  how  many  Christian  Science 
Temples  she  hasn't  erected,  or  subscribed  liberally  to. 
She  turns  every  table  in  her  house.  She  won't  leave 
even  one  alone.  Her  early  breakfasts  for  star-gazers 
are  famous,  and  it's  impossible  to  dine  with  her  without 
sitting  next  to  a  horoscope-caster,  or  being  taken  in — 
to  dinner,  of  course — by  a  crystal  diviner  or  a  nose- 
prophet." 

"A  nose-prophet !    What's  that  ?" 

"A  person  who  tells  your  fortune  by  the  shape  of 
your  nose." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"Well,  you  understand  now  that  there's  no  sillier 
person  in  London  than  dear  Mrs.  Bridgeman?" 

"Oh,  quite." 

"She's  done  a  great  deal  for  me,  more  than  I  can 
ever  repay." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes,  in  introducing  me  to  the  real  inner  circles  of 
idiotcy.  Well,  in  return,  I've  sworn — " 

"You  too!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  nothing.     I  beg  your  pardon.     Please  go  on." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  continued. 

"I've  sworn — that  is,  pledged  my  honour,  you 
know — " 

"I  know!    I  know!'! 


1 66  '"  The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"To  introduce  her  to  at  least  one  thoroughly  sensible 
person — a  man,  she  prefers." 

"And  you've  chosen — ?" 

"Sir  Tiglath,  because  he's  the  only  one  I  know. 
Once,  I  confess,  I  thought  of  you." 

"Of  me!" 

"Yes,  but  of  course  I  didn't  really  know  you  then." 

She  looked  at  him  with  genuine  regard.  The 
Prophet  scarcely  knew  whether  to  feel  delighted  or 
distressed. 

"Now,  you  see,  Mr.  Vivian,  if  Sir  Tiglath  found 
out  for  certain  that  I  was  Miss  Minerva,  he  might 
discover  my  double  life,  and  if  he  did  that,  he  is  so 
sensible  that  I  am  sure  he  would  never  speak  to  me 
again,  and  I  could  not  fulfil  my  vow  to  dear  Mrs. 
Bridgeman." 

"I  quite  see." 

"Nor  my  other  vow  to  myself." 

"Which  one?" 

"Oh,  never  mind." 

"I  won't." 

"He  only  said  that  about  partridges  in  January,  I 
find,  because  he  happened  to  see  one  of  my  letters  in 
Jellybrand's  window.  He  doesn't  associate  that  letter 
with  me.  So  it  ought  to  be  all  right,  and  I've  arranged 
my  campaign." 

"But  what  can  I—?" 

She  smiled  at  him  with  some  Scottish  craft. 

"Don't  bother.  You've  got  to  be  my  aide-de-camp, 
that's  all.  Ah,  here  we  are!" 

For  at  this  moment  the  horse,  with  a  great  effort, 
succeeded  in  falling  down,  for  the  last  time,  before 
the  astronomer's  door. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ELABORATE  MIND  OF  MISS  MINERVA 

ON  being  shown,  by  an  elderly  housekeeper  with 
a  Berlin  wool  fringe,  into  an  old-fashioned  oval  book- 
room,  Lady  Enid  and  the  Prophet  discovered  the 
astronomer  sitting  there  tcte-a-tcte  with  a  muffin,  which 
lay  on  a  china  plate  surrounded  by  manuscripts,  letters, 
pamphlets,  books  and  blotting-paper.  He  was  engaged 
in  tracing  lines  upon  an  immense  sheet  of  foolscap 
with  the  aid  of  a  ruler  and  a  pair  of  compasses,  and 
when  he  perceived  his  visitors,  he  merely  rolled  his 
glassy  eyes  at  them,  shook  his  large  head  as  if  in 
rebuke,  and  then  returned  to  his  occupation  without 
uttering  a  word. 

Lady  Enid  was  in  nowise  abashed.  She  looked 
more  sensible  even  than  usual,  and  at  once  commenced 
her  campaign  by  the1  remark, — 

"I  know  you  wonder  why  I  wanted  to  see  you  this 
afternoon,  Sir  Tiglath.  Well,  I'll  tell  you  at  once.  Mr. 
Vivian  has  persuaded  me  to  act  as  his  ambassador." 

At  this  very  unexpected  statement  the  Prophet 
started,  and  was  about  to  utter  what  might,  perhaps, 
have  taken  the  form  of  a  carefully- worded  denial, 
when  Lady  Enid  made  a  violent  face  at  him,  and  pro- 
ceeded, in  a  calm  manner. 

"He  wishes  you  to  do  something  for  him,  and  he 


1 68     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

has  confessed  to  me  that  he  does  not  quite  like  to  ask 
you  himself." 

On  hearing  these  words  the  Prophet's  brain,  already 
sorely  tried  by  the  tragic  duel  which  had  taken  place 
between  himself  and  the  couple  who  lived  beside  the 
Mouse,  temporarily  collapsed.  He  attempted  no  pro- 
test. His  mind  indeed  was  not  in  a  condition  to  invent 
one.  He  simply  sat  down  on  a  small  pile  of  astronomi- 
cal instruments  which,  with  some  scientific  works,  an 
encyclopaedia  and  a  pair  of  carpet  slippers,  occupied 
the  nearest  chair,  and  waited  in  a  dazed  manner  for 
what  would  happen  next. 

Sir  Tiglath  continued  measuring  and  drawing  lines 
with  a  very  thin  pen,  and  Lady  Enid  proceeded  further 
to  develop  her  campaign. 

"Mr.  Vivian  tells  me,"  she  said,  "that  he  has  a  very 
old  and  dear  friend  who  is  most  anxious  to  make 
your  acquaintance — not,  of  course,  for  any  idle  social 
purpose,  but  in  order  to  consult  you  on  some  obscure 
point  connected  with  astronomy  that  only  you  can 
render  clear.  Isn't  this  so,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

The  Prophet  shifted  uneasily  on  the  astronomical 
instruments,  and,  grasping  the  carpet  slippers  with  one 
hand  to  steady  himself,  in  answer  to  an  authoritative 
sign  from  Lady  Enid,  feebly  nodded  his  head. 

"But,"  Lady  Enid  continued,  apparently  warming 
to  her  lies,  "Mr.  Vivian  and  his  friend,  knowing  how 
much  your  time  is  taken  up  by  astronomical  research, 
and  how  intensely  valuable  it  is  to  the  world  at  large, 
have  not  hitherto  dared  to  intrude  upon  it,  although 
they  have  wished  to  do  so  for  a  very  long  time,  and 
have  even  made  one  attempt — at  the  Colley  Gibber 
Club." 


The  Elaborate  Mind  of  Miss  Minerva     169 

The  Prophet  gasped.  Sir  Tiglath  took  a  bite  out 
of  the  muffin  and  returned  to  his  tracing  and  measur- 
ing. 

"On  that  occasion  you  may  remember,"  Lady  Enid 
went  on  with  increasing  vivacity  and  assurance,  "you 
declined  to  speak.  This  naturally  damped  Mr.  Vivian 
— who  is  very  sensitive,  though  you  might  not  think 
it" — here  she  cast  a  glance  at  the  instruments  on  which 
the  Prophet  sat — "and  his  friend.  So  much  so,  in 
fact,  that  unless  I  had  undertaken  to  act  for  them 
I  daresay  they  would  have  let  the  matter  drop. 
Wouldn't  you,  Mr.  Vivian?"  she  added  swiftly  to  the 
Prophet. 

"Certainly,"  he  answered,  like  a  creature  in  a  dream. 
"Certainly." 

"More  especially  as  the  friend,  Mrs.  Vane  Bridge- 
man" — the  Prophet  at  this  point  made  an  inarticulate, 
but  very  audible,  noise  that  might  have  meant  any- 
thing, and  that  did  in  fact  mean  "Merciful  Heavens! 
what  will  become  of  me?" — "Mrs.  Vane  Bridgeman 
is  also  of  a  very  retiring  disposition  and  would  hate 
to  put  such  a  man  as  you  are  to  the  slightest  incon- 
venience." 

Sir  Tiglath  took  another  bite  at  the  muffin,  which 
seemed  to  be  getting  the  worst  of  the  tete-a-tete,  rum- 
maged among  the  mess  of  things  that  loaded  his  table 
till  he  found  a  gigantic  book,  opened  it,  and  began  to 
compare  some  measurements  in  it  with  those  he  had 
made  on  the  foolscap  paper.  His  brick-red  face  glis- 
tened in  the  light  of  the  lamp  that  stood  beside  him. 
His  moist  red  lips  shone,  and  he  seemed  totally  un- 
aware that  there  was  anyone  in  the  chamber  endeav- 
ouring to  gain  his  attention. 


170     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

"In  these  circumstances,  Sir  Tiglath,"  Lady  Enid 
went  on,  with  pleasant  ease,  and  a  sort  of  homespun 
self-possession  that  trumpeted,  like  a  military  band, 
her  sensibleness,  "Mr.  Vivian  consulted  me  as  to  what 
to  do ;  whether  to  give  the  whole  thing  up,  or  to  make 
an  appeal  to  you  at  the  risk  of  disturbing  you  and 
taking  up  a  little  of  your  precious  time.  When  he  had 
explained  the  affair  to  me,  however,  I  at  once  felt 
certain  that  you  would  wish  to  know  of  it.  Didn't  I, 
Mr.  Vivian?  Didn't  I  say,  only  this  afternoon,  that 
we  must  at  once  take  a  four-wheeler  to  Sir  Tiglath's?" 

"Yes,  you  did,"  said  the  Prophet,  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"For  I  knew  that  no  investigation,  no  serious,  rev- 
erent investigation  into  heavenly,  that  is  starry,  con- 
ditions could  be  indifferent  to  you,  Sir  Tiglath." 

The  astronomer,  who  had  been  in  the  act  of  lifting 
the  last  morsel  of  the  muffin  to  his  mouth,  put  it  down 
again,  and  Lady  Enid,  thus  vehemently  encouraged, 
went  on  more  rapidly. 

"You  know  of  Mr.  Vivian's  interest,  almost  more 
than  interest,  in  the  planets.  This  interest  is  shared, 
was  indeed  prompted  by  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  a  woman 
of  serious  attainments  and  a  cultivated  mind.  Isn't 
she,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

The  Prophet  heard  a  voice  reply,  "Oh,  yes,  she  is." 
He  often  wondered  afterwards  whether  it  was  his 
own. 

"It  seems  that  she,  during  certain  researches,  hit 
upon  an  idea  with  regard  to — well,  shall  I  say  with 
regard  to  certain  stars? — which  she  communicated  to 
Mr.  Vivian  in  the  hope  that  he  would  carry  it  further, 
and  in  fact  clear  it  up.  Didn't  she,  Mr.  Vivian?" 


The  Elaborate  Mind  of  Miss  Minerva     171 

"Oh,  yes,  she  did,"  said  a  voice,  to  which  the 
Prophet  again  listened  with  strained  attention. 

"It  was  in  connection  with  this  idea  that  Mr.  Vivian 
developed  his  enthusiasm  for  the  telescope — which  led 
him,  perhaps,  a  little  too  far,  Sir  Tiglath,  but  I'm  sure 
Mrs.  Merillia  and  you  have  quite  forgotten  that!" 

Here  Lady  Enid  paused,  and  the  astronomer 
achieved  the  final  conquest  of  the  muffin. 

"He  and  Mrs.  Bridgeman  have  been,  in  fact,  work- 
ing together,  she  being  the  brain,  as  it  were,  and  Mr. 
Vivian  the  eye.  You've  been  the  eye,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

"I've  been  the  eye." 

"But,  despite  all  their  ardour  and  assiduity,  they 
have  come  to  a  sort  of  deadlock.  In  these  circum- 
stances they  come  to  you,  making  me — as  your,  may 
I  say  intimate,  friend? — their  mouthpiece." 

Here  Lady  Enid  paused  rather  definitely,  and  cast 
a  glance  of  apparently  violent  invitation  at  the  Prophet, 
as  if  suggesting  that  he  must  now  amplify  and  fill  in 
her  story.  As  he  did  not  do  so,  a  heavy  silence  fell 
in  the  room.  Sir  Tiglath  had  returned  to  his  measur- 
ing, and  Lady  Enid,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  look 
slightly  embarrassed.  Sending  her  eyes  vaguely  about 
the  apartment,  as  people  do  on  such  occasions,  she 
chanced  to  see  a  newspaper  lying  on  the  floor  near  to 
her.  She  bent  down  towards  it,  then  raising  herself 
up  she  said, — 

"Mrs.  Bridgeman  some  time  ago  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  there  was  probably  oxygen  in  certain 
stars,  and  not  only  in  the  fixed  stars." 

At  this  remark  the  astronomer's  countenance  com- 
pletely changed.  He  swung  round  in  his  revolving 


172     The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

chair,  wagged  his  huge  head  from  side  to  side,  and 
finally  roared  out  to  the  Prophet, — 

"Is  she  telling  the  truth?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Prophet,  bounding  on 
the  instruments. 

"Get  off  those  precious  tools,  young  man,  far  more 
valuable  than  your  finite  carcase!  Get  off  them  this 
moment  and  answer  me — is  this  young  female  speak- 
ing the  truth  ?" 

The  Prophet  got  off  the  instruments  and,  in  answer 
to  a  firm,  Scottish  gesture  from  Lady  Enid,  nodded 
his  head  twice. 

"What!"  continued  Sir  Tiglath,  puffing  out  his 
cheeks,  "a  woman  be  a  pioneer  among  the  Heavenly 
Bodies!" 

The  Prophet  nodded  again,  as  mechanically  as  a 
penny  toy. 

"The  old  astronomer  is  exercised,"  bawled  Sir 
Tiglath,  with  every  symptom  of  acute  perturbation. 
"He  is  greatly  exercised  by  the  narrative  of  the  young 
female !" 

So  saying,  he  heaved  himself  up  out  of  his  chair 
and  began  to  roll  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  alter- 
nately distending  his  cheeks  and  permitting  them  to 
collapse. 

"I  should  tell  you  also,  Sir  Tiglath,"  interposed  Lady 
Enid,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  "that  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man's  original  adviser  and  assistant  in  her  astronomical 
researches  was  a  certain  Mr.  Sagittarius,  who  is  also 
an  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Vivian's." 

The  Prophet  sat  down  again  upon  the  instruments 
with  a  thud. 

"Get  off  those  precious  tools,  young  man!"  roared 


The  Elaborate  Mind  of  Miss  Minerva     1 73 

the  astronomer  furiously.  "Would  you  impose  your 
vile  body  upon  the  henchmen  of  the  stars?" 

The  Prophet  got  up  again  and  leaned  against  the 
wall. 

"I  feel  unwell,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Exceed- 
ingly unwell.  I  regret  that  I  must  really  be  going." 

Lady  Enid  did  not  seem  to  regret  his  abrupt  indis- 
position. Perhaps  she  thought  that  she  had  already 
accomplished  her  purpose.  At  any  rate  she  got  up 
too,  and  prepared  to  take  leave.  The  astronomer  was 
still  in  great  excitement. 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Sagittarius  ?"  he  bellowed. 

"A  man  of  science.    Isn't  he,  Mr.  Vivian  ?" 

"Yes." 

"An  astronomer  of  remarkable  attainments,  Mr. 
Vivian?" 

"Yes." 

"One  knows  not  his  abnormal  name,"  cried  the 
astronomer. 

"He  is  very  modest,  very  retiring.  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man's  is  really  the  only  house  in  London  at  which  you 
can  meet  him.  Isn't  that  so,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

"Yes." 

"You  say  he  has  made  investigations  into  the  possi- 
bility of  there  being  oxygen  in  many  of  the  holy  stars  ?" 

"Mr.  Vivian!" 

"Yes." 

"The  old  astronomer  must  encounter  him!"  ex- 
claimed SirTiglath,  puffing  furiously  as  he  rolled  about 
the  room. 

"Mr.  Vivian  will  arrange  it,"  Lady  Enid  said,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  "at  Mrs.  Bridgeman's.  That's  a  bar- 
gain. Come,  Mr.  Vivian!" 


174    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

And  almost  before  the  Prophet  knew  what  she  was 
doing,  she  had  manoeuvred  him  out  into  Kensington 
Square,  and  was  pioneering  him  swiftly  towards  the 
High  Street. 

"We'll  take  a  hansom  home,"  she  said  gaily,  "and 
the  man  can  drive  as  fast  as  ever  he  likes." 

In  half  a  minute  the  Prophet  found  himself  in  a 
hansom,  bowling  along  towards  Mayfair.  The  first 
words  he  said,  when  he  was  able  to  speak,  were, — 

"Why — Mr.  Sagittarius — oh,  why?" 

Lady  Enid  smiled  happily. 

"It  just  struck  me  while  I  was  talking  to  Sir  Tiglath 
that  I  would  introduce  Mr.  Sagittarius  into  the  affair." 

"Oh,  why?" 

"Why — because  it  seemed  such  an  utterly  silly  thing 
to  do,"  she  answered.  "Didn't  it?" 

The  Prophet  was  silent. 

"Didn't  it  ?"  she  repeated.  "A  thing  worthy  of  Miss 
Minerva." 

It  seemed  to  the  Prophet  just  then  as  if  Miss 
Minerva  were  going  to  wreck  his  life  and  prepare  him 
accurately  for  a  future  in  Bedlam. 

"And  besides  you  wouldn't  tell  me  who  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius was,"  she  added. 

The  Prophet  began  to  realise  that  it  is  very  danger- 
ous indeed  to  deny  the  curiosity  of  a  woman. 

"What  a  mercy  it  is,"  Lady  Enid  continued  lightly, 
"that  Malkiel  is  a  syndicate,  instead  of  a  man.  If  he 
wasn't,  and  Sir  Tiglath  ever  got  to  know  him,  he 
would  try  to  murder  him,  and  how  foolish  that  would 
be!  It  would  be  rather  amusing,  though,  to  see  Sir 
Tiglath  do  a  thoroughly  foolish  thing,  wouldn't  it?" 

The  Prophet's  blood  ran  cold  in  the  cab,  as  he  began, 


The  Elaborate  Mind  of  Miss  Minerva     1 75 

for  the  first  time,  to  see  clearly  into  the  elaborate  mind 
of  Miss  Minerva,  into  the  curiously  deliberate  com- 
plications of  a  definite  and  determined  folly.  He  per- 
ceived the  danger  that  threatened  the  prophet  who 
dwelt  beside  the  Mouse,  but  he  had  recovered  himself 
by  this  time  sufficiently  to  meet  craft  with  craft.  And 
he  therefore  answered  carelessly, — 

"Yes,  it  is  lucky  that  Malkiel's  a  syndicate." 
When  they  reached  Hill  Street  Lady  Enid  said, — 
"I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Vivian,  for  all 
you've  done  for  Miss  Minerva." 
"Not  at  all." 

"The  next  step  is  to  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man,  and  you  can  introduce  her  to  Mr.  Sagittarius. 
Then  I'll  introduce  Sir  Tiglath  to  her  and  she  will 
introduce  Mr.  Sagittarius  to  him.  It  all  works  out  so 
beautifully!  Thank  you  a  thousand  times.  You'll 
hear  from  me.  Probably  I'll  give  you  your  directions 
how  to  act  to-morrow.  Good-night." 

The  Prophet  drove  on  to  Berkeley  Square,  feeling 
that,  between  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius  and  Miss 
Minerva,  he  was  being  rapidly  directed  to  his  doom. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   PROPHET   IS   INTERVIEWED   BY   TWO    KIDS 

MR.  FERDINAND  met  the  Prophet  in  the  hall. 

"I  have  done  as  you  directed,  sir,"  he  said  respect- 
fully. 

"As  I  directed,  Mr.  Ferdinand?  I  was  not  aware 
that  I  ever  directed  anybody,"  replied  the  Prophet, 
suspecting  irony. 

"I  understood  you  to  say,  sir,  that  if  any  more  tele- 
grams was  to  arrive,  I  was  to  burn  them,  sir." 

"Telegrams!  Good  Heaven!  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that—" 

"There  has  been  some  seventeen  or  eighteen,  sir. 
I  have  burnt  them,  sir,  to  ashes,  according  to  your 
orders." 

"Quite  right,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Prophet, 
putting  his  hand  up  to  his  hair,  to  feel  if  it  were  turn- 
ing grey.  "Quite  right.  How  is — how,  I  say,  is  Mrs. 
Merillia?" 

"Well,  Master  Hennessey,  she's  not  dead  yet." 

And  Mr.  Ferdinand,  with  a  contorted  countenance, 
moved  towards  the  servants'  hall. 

The  Prophet  stood  quite  still  with  his  hat  and  coat 
on  for  several  minutes.  An  amazing  self-possession 
had  come  to  him,  the  unnatural  self-possession  of  de- 
spair. He  felt  quite  calm,  as  the  statue  of  a  dead 
alderman  feels  on  the  embankment  of  its  native  city. 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      177 

Nothing  seemed  to  matter  at  all.  He  might  have  been 
Marcus  Aurelius — till  a  loud  double  knock  came  to 
the  front  door.  Then  he  might  have  been  any  danger- 
ous lunatic,  ripe  for  a  strait  waistcoat.  Mr.  Ferdinand 
approached.  The  Prophet  faced  him. 

"Kindly  retire,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  he  said  in  a  very 
quiet  voice.  "I  will  answer  that  knock." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  retired  rather  rapidly.  The  knock 
was  repeated.  The  Prophet  opened  the  door.  A  tele- 
graph boy,  about  two  and  a  half  feet  high,  stood  out- 
side upon  the  step. 

"Telegram,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  thin  voice. 

"Give  it  to  me,  my  lad,"  replied  the  Prophet. 

The  small  boy  handed  the  telegram  and  turned  to 
depart. 

"Wait  a  moment,  my  lad,"  said  the  Prophet,  very 
gently. 

The  small  boy  waited. 

"Do  you  wish  to  be  strangled,  my  lad?"  asked  the 
Prophet. 

The  small  boy  tried  to  recoil,  but  his  terror  rooted 
him. firmly  to  the  spot. 

"Do  all  the  other  boys  at  the  office  wish  to  be 
strangled?"  continued  the  Prophet.  "Come,  my  lad, 
why  don't  you  answer  me?" 

"No,  sir,"  whispered  the  small  boy,  passing  his  little 
tongue  over  his  pale  lips. 

"Very  well,  my  lad,  the  next  boy  who  brings  a 
telegram  to  this  house  will  be  strangled,  do  you  under- 
stand that?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  sighed  the  small  boy,  like  a  terror- 
stricken  Zephyr. 

"That's  right.     Good-night,  my  lad." 


1 78    The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

The  Prophet  closed  the  street  door  very  softly,  and 
the  small  boy  dropped  fainting  on  the  pavement  and 
was  carried  to  the  nearest  hospital  on  a  stretcher  by 
two  dutiful  policemen. 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  opened  the  telegram  and 
read  as  follows: — 

"Insufferable  insolence.  How  dare  you ;  shall  pay 
dearly;  with  you  to-morrow  first  'bus. 

"JUPITER  AND  MADAME  SAGITTARIUS." 

"Mr.  Ferdinand !"  called  the  Prophet. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  am  about  to  write  a  telegram.  Gustavus  will 
take  it  to  the  office." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  Prophet  went  into  the  library  and  wrote  these 
words  on  a  telegraph  form : — 

"Jupiter  Sagittarius,  Sagittarius  Lodge,  Crampton 
St.  Peter,  N.  Your  life  is  in  danger;  keep  where  you 
are;  another  telegram  may  destroy  you.  Grave  news. 

VIVIAN." 

The  Prophet  gave  this  telegram  to  Gustavus  and 
then  prepared  to  go  upstairs  to  his  grandmother.  As 
he  mounted  towards  the  drawing-room  he  murmured 
to  himself  over  and  over  again, — 

"Sir  Tiglath— Malkiel !     Malkiel— Sir  Tiglath !" 

He  found  Mrs.  Merillia  very  prostrate.     It  seemed 

that  the  telegraph  boys  had  very  soon  worn  through 

the   cotton-wool    with   which    the   knocker   had   been 

shrouded,  and  that  the  incessant  noise  of  their  efforts 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      179 

to  attract  attention  at  the  door  had  quite  unnerved  the 
gallant  old  lady.  Nevertheless,  her  own  condition  was 
the  last  thing  she  thought  of. 

"I  don't  mind  for  myself,  Hennessey,"  she  said. 
"But  it  is  very  sad  after  all  these  years  of  respect  and 
even,  I  think,  a  certain  popularity,  to  be  considered 
a  nuisance  by  one's  square.  We  are  hopelessly  em- 
broiled with  the  Duchess  of  Camberwell,  and  the  Lord 
Chancellor  has  sent  over  five  times  to  explain  the 
different  laws  and  regulations  that  we  are  breaking. 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  go  to  his  Reception  to-night, 
really." 

"I  am  not  going,  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet,  over- 
whelmed with  contrition.  "I  cannot  go  in  any  case." 

"Why  not?" 

"I — I  have  some  work  to  do  at  home." 

He  avoided  the  glance  of  her  bright  eyes,  and  con- 
tinued. 

"Grannie,  I  am  deeply  grieved  at  all  you  have  gone 
through  to-day.  Believe  me  it  has  not  been  my  fault — 
at  least  not  entirely.  I  may  have  been  injudicious,  but 
I  never — never — " 

He  paused,  quite  overcome  with  emotion. 

"I  don't  know  what  will  happen  if  the  telegrams  go 
on  till  midnight,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia.  "The  Duke  of 
Camberwell  is  a  very  violent  man,  since  he  had  that 
sunstroke  at  the  last  Jubilee,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  he—" 

"Grannie,  there  will  not  be  any  more  telegrams." 

"But  you  said  that  before,  Hennessey." 

"And  I  say  it  again.  There  will  not  be  any  more. 
I  have  just  informed  the  messenger  that  the  next  boy 
who  knocks  will  certainly  be — well,  destroyed." 


180    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Mrs.  Merillia  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  am  so  thankful,  Hennessey.  Are  you  dining  out 
to-night?" 

"No,  grannie.  I  don't  feel  very  well.  I  have  a  head- 
ache. I  shall  go  and  lie  down  for  a  little." 

"Yes,  do.  Everyone  is  lying  down;  Fancy,  the 
upper  housemaid,  the  cook.  Even  Gustavus,  they  tell 
me,  is  trying  to  snatch  a  little  uneasy  repose  on  his 
what-not.  It  has  been  a  terrible  day." 

Mrs.  Merillia  lay  back  and  closed  her  eyes,  and  the 
Prophet,  overwhelmed  with  remorse,  retired  to  his 
room,  lay  down  and  stared  desperately  at  nothing  for 
half  an  hour.  He  then  ate,  with  a  very  poor  appetite, 
a  morsel  of  dinner  and  prepared  to  take,  if  possible, 
a  short  nap  before  starting  on  the  labours  of  the  night. 
As  he  got  up  from  the  dining  table  to  go  upstairs  he 
said  to  Mr.  Ferdinand, — 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  if  I  should  come  into 
the  pantry  again  to-night,  don't  be  alarmed.  I  may 
chance  to  require  a  bradawl  as  I  did  last  night. 
Kindly  leave  one  out,  in  case  I  should.  But  you  need 
not  sit  up." 

As  the  Prophet  said  the  last  words  he  looked  Mr. 
Ferdinand  full  in  the  face.  The  butler's  eyes  fell. 

"Thank  you,  Master  Hennessey,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
get  to  bed — entirely  to  bed — in  good  time.  We  are  all 
a  bit  upset  in  the  kit — that  is  the  hall  to-day." 

"Just  so.    Retire  to  rest  at  once  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"Gustavus,"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand,  a  moment  later  in 
the  servants'  hall,  "you  are  a  man  of  the  world,  I 
believe." 

Gustavus  roused  himself  on  his  what-not. 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      1 8 1 

"I  am,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  he  replied,  in  a  pale  and 
exhausted  manner. 

"Then  tell  me,  Gustavus,  have  you  ever  lived  in 
service  with  a  gentleman  who  was  partial  to  a  bradawl 
— of  a  night,  you  understand?" 

"No,  never,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  The  nearest  to  it  ever 
I  got  was  the  Bishop  of  Clapham." 

"Explain  yourself,  Gustavus,  I  beg." 

"He  used  to  ask  for  a  nip  sometimes  before  retiring, 
Mr.  Ferdinand." 

"A  nip,  Gustavus?" 

"Warm  water,  with  a  slice  of  toast  in  it.  But  he 
was  only  what  they  call  a  suburban  bishop,  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand." 

"Ah !  a  nip  is  hardly  on  all  fours  with  a  bradawl, 
Gustavus." 

"P'r'aps  not,  Mr.  Ferdinand,  but  it's  the  nearest 
ever  I  got  to  it." 

Mr.  Ferdinand  said  no  more,  but  when  he  retired 
to  rest  that  night  he  double-locked  his  door,  and 
dreamt  of  bradawls  till  he  woke,  unrefreshed,  the  next 
morning  to  find  the  area  full  of  telegrams. 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  was  conscientiously  fulfill- 
ing his  promise  and  keeping  the  oath  he  had  pledged 
his  honour  over,  although  he  had  to  work  under  a 
grave  disadvantage  in  the  total  loss  of  his  planisphere, 
or  star-map. 

He  entered  the  butler's  pantry  precisely  on  the 
stroke  of  eleven,  and  found  it,  to  his  great  relief,  un- 
tenanted.  The  dwarf  was  no  longer  at  the  telescope, 
and  the  silence  in  the  region  dedicated  to  Mrs.  Meril- 
lia's  menials  was  profound.  The  night,  too,  was  clear 
and  starry,  propitious  for  prophetic  labours,  and  as  the 


1 82    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Prophet  gazed  out  upon  the  deserted  square  through 
the  open  window  a  strange  peace  descended  upon  his 
fevered  soul.  Nature,  with  all  her  shining  mysteries, 
her  distant  reticences  and  revelations,  calmed  the  tur- 
moil within  him.  He  looked  upon  the  area  railings 
and  upon  the  sky,  and  smiled. 

Then  he  looked  for  the  star-map.  He  perceived  in 
a  very  prominent  position  upon  a  silver  salver,  the 
bradawl  laid  out,  according  to  order,  by  the  obedient 
Mr.  Ferdinand.  He  perceived  also  the  open  pot  of 
"Butler's  Own  Special  Pomade,"  but  the  planisphere 
had  been  moved  from  it.  Where  could  it  have  been 
bestowed?  The  Prophet  instituted  a  careful  search. 
He  explored  cupboards,  drawers — such  at  least  as  were 
unlocked — in  vain.  He  glanced  into  a  silver  teapot  repos- 
ing on  a  shelf,  between  the  pages  of  an  almanac  hanging 
on  the  wall,  among  some  back  numbers  of  the  Butler's 
Gazette,  which  were  lying  in  a  corner.  But  the  plani- 
sphere was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  at  last  in  despair 
he  resolved  to  do  without  it,  and  to  trust  to  his  fairly 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  heavens.  He,  therefore, 
took  up  his  station  by  the  window  and  proceeded  to 
extract  from  the  pocket  of  his  smoking- jacket  the 
account-book  in  which  he  had  dotted  down  the  direc- 
tions of  "Madame  and  self."  They  were  very  vague, 
for  his  dots  had  been  agitated.  Still,  by  the  help  of 
the  George  the  Third  candlestick,  in  which  was  a 
lighted  taper,  the  Prophet  was  able  to  make  out  enough 
to  refresh  his  memory.  He  was  to  begin  by  placing 
his  beloved  grandmother  in  the  claws  of  the  crab. 
Leaning  upon  the  sill  of  the  window  he  found  the  crab 
and — breathing  a  short  prayer  for  forgiveness — com- 
mitted his  dear  relation  to  its  offices.  He  then  retreated 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      183 

and,  assuming  very  much  the  position  of  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand, applied  his  right  eye  to  the  telescope,  at  the  same 
time  holding  his  left  eye  firmly  shut  with  the  forefinger 
of  his  left  hand.  At  once  the  majesty  of  the  starry 
heavens  burst  upon  him  in  all  its  glory. 

Exactly  at  half-past  one  o'clock,  two  hours  and  a 
half  later,  the  enthralled  Prophet  heard  a  low  whistle 
which  seemed  to  reach  him  from  the  square.  He 
withdrew  his  fascinated  right  eye  from  the  telescope 
and  endeavoured  to  use  it  in  an  ordinary  manner,  but 
he  could  at  first  see  nothing.  The  low  whistle  was 
repeated.  It  certainly  did  come  from  the  square,  and 
the  Prophet  approached  the  open  window  and  once 
more  tried  to  compel  the  eye  that  had  looked  so  long 
upon  the  stars  to  gaze  with  understanding  upon  the 
earth.  This  time  he  perceived  a  black  thing,  like  a 
blot,  about  six  feet  high,  beyond  the  area  railings. 
From  this  blot  came  a  third  whistle.  The  Prophet, 
who  was  still  dazed  by  the  fascination  of  star-gazing, 
mechanically  whistled  in  reply,  whereupon  the  blot 
whispered  at  him  huskily, — 

"At  it  again,  are  you?" 

"Yes,"  whispered  the  Prophet,  also  huskily,  for  the 
night  air  was  cold.  "But  how  should  you  know?" 

Indeed  he  wondered,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
blot  were  some  strange  night  thing  that  must  have 
companioned  him,  invisibly,  when  he  kept  his  nocturnal 
watches  in  the  drawing-room,  and  that  now  partially 
revealed  itself  to  him  in  the,  perhaps,  more  acutely 
occult  region  of  the  basement. 

"How  should  I  know!"  rejoined  the  blot  with  ob- 
vious, though  very  hoarse,  irony.  "Whatever  d'you 
take  me  for?" 


184    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

The  Prophet  began  to  wonder,  but  before  he  had 
gone  on  wondering  for  more  than  about  half  a  minute, 
the  blot  continued, — 

"She's  gone  to  bed." 

"I  know  she  has,"  said  the  Prophet,  presuming  that 
the  blot,  which  seemed  instinct  with  all  knowledge, 
was  referring  to  his  grandmother. 

"But  she  knows  you're  at  it  again,"  continued  the 
blot. 

The  Prophet  started  violently  and  leaned  upon  the 
window-sill. 

"No!    How  can  that  be?"  he  ejaculated. 

"Ho!  Them  girls  knows  everything,  especially  the 
old  uns,"  said  the  blot,  with  an  audible  chuckle. 

"Good  gracious !"  gasped  the  Prophet,  overwhelmed 
at  this  mysterious  visitant's  familiar  description  of  his 
revered  grandmother. 

"Have  you  seen  her  to-night?"  inquired  the  blot, 
controlling  its  merriment. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Prophet.    "With  the  Crab." 

"What!"  cried  the  blot,  in  obvious  astonishment. 
"Them  instruments  must  be  wonderful  sight-carriers." 

"They  are,"  exclaimed  the  Prophet,  with  almost 
mystic  enthusiasm.  "Wonderful.  I  have  seen  her 
with  the  Crab  distinctly." 

"Ah!  well,  I  told  her  she  ought  to  keep  away  from 
it,"  continued  the  blot. 

"Did  you?"  said  the  Prophet,  with  increasing  sur- 
prise. "But  how  could  she?" 

"Ah!  that's  just  it!    She  couldn't." 

"No,  of  course  not." 

"She  was  drawn  right  to  it." 

"She  was.    It  wasn't  her  fault,    It  was  the  Crab's," 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      185 

"A  pity  it  was  dressed." 

"What?" 

"I  say  it's  a  pity  'twas  dressed." 

"What  was  dressed?" 

"What !  why,  the  Crab !" 

"The  Crab— dressed !" 

"Ay.    They're  a  deal  safer  not  dressed." 

"Are  they?" 

"She  knows  it  too." 

"Does  she?" 

"But  there — them  women  likes  a  spice  of  danger. 
She's  in  a  nice  state  now,  you  bet.  Not  much  sleep 
for  her,  I'll  lay.  Well,  I  tried  to  keep  her  from  it,  so 
you  needn't  blame  me." 

"I  won't,"  said  the  Prophet,  feeling  completely 
dazed. 

"Well,  go'-night.     I'm  off  round  the  square." 

"Good-night,"  said  the  Prophet. 

Suddenly  a  blinding  flash  of  light  dazzled  his  eyes. 
He  covered  them  with  his  hands.  When  he  could  see 
again  the  blot  was  gone. 

Although  he  retired  to  rest  that  night  when  the 
clock  struck  three,  the  Prophet  did  not  sleep.  His 
nervous  system  was  in  a  condition  of  acute  excitement. 
His  brain  felt  like  a  burning  ball,  and  the  palms  of  his 
hands  were  hot  with  fever.  For  the  spirit  of  prophecy 
was  upon  him  once  more,  and  he  was  bound  fast  in 
the  golden  magic  of  the  stars.  Like  the  morphia 
maniac  who,  after  valiant  fasting,  returning  to  his 
drug,  feels  its  influence  the  stronger  for  his  abstinence 
from  it,  the  Prophet  was  conscious  that  the  heavens 
held  more  power,  more  meaning  for  him  because,  for 
a  while,  he  had  intended  to  neglect  them.  He  was 


1 86    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

ravaged  by  their  mystery,  their  majesty  and  revela- 
tion. 

When  he  came  down  in  the  morning  pale,  di- 
shevelled, but  informed  by  a  curious  dignity,  he  was 
met  at  once  by  Mr.  Ferdinand. 

"I  have  cleared  the  area,  sir,"  said  that  functionary. 

"The  area,  Mr.  Ferdinand.    What  of?" 

"Telegrams,  sir.  The  boys  must  have  thrown  'em 
down  without  knocking." 

"Very  probably,"  replied  the  Prophet.  "Their  com- 
rade was  right.  They  did  not  wish  to  be  strangled." 

"No,  sir.  And  I  have  placed  them  in  a  basket  on 
the  breakfast  table,  sir,  while  awaiting  your  orders," 

"Quite  right,  Mr.  Ferdinand.  By  the  way,  here  is 
the  bradawl.  Leave  it  out  again  to-night  in  case  I 
have  need  of  it." 

So  saying,  the  Prophet  handed  the  bradawl,  which 
he  had  craftily  conveyed  from  the  pantry  on  the  previ- 
ous night,  to  the  astonished  butler  and  walked  swiftly 
into  the  breakfast-room.  The  basket  of  telegrams  was 
set  outside  beside  a  fried  sole  and  the  "equipage" 
which  Madame  had  so  much  admired,  and,  while  he 
sipped  his  tea,  the  Prophet  opened  the  wires  one  by 
one.  They  were  fraught  with  terror  and  dismay. 
Evidently  his  mysterious  warning  had  thrown  the 
worthies  who  dwelt  beside  the  Mouse  into  a  condition 
of  the  very  gravest  amazement  and  alarm,  and  they 
had,  despite  the  Prophet's  final  injunction,  spent  the 
remaining  telegraphic  hours  of  the  day  in  despatching 
wires  of  frantic  inquiry  to  the  square.  Madame,  in 
particular,  was  evidently  much  upset,  and  expressed 
her  angry  agitation  in  a  dead  language  that  seemed 
positively  to  live  again  in  fear  and  novelty  of  grammati- 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      187 

cal  construction.  Sir  Tiglath  had  been  a  brilliant  card 
to  play  in  the  prophetic  game,  although  he  had  not 
achieved  the  Prophet's  purpose  of  stopping  the  tele- 
graphic flood. 

While  the  Prophet  was  simultaneously  finishing  the 
fried  sole  and  the  perusal  of  the  final  wire  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand entered,  in  a  condition  of  obvious  astonishment 
that  might  well  have  cost  him  his  place. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  he  said,  in  an  up-and-down 
voice,  "if  you  please  there  are  two — two — two — " 

"Two  what?     Be  more  explicit,  Mr.  Ferdinand." 

"Two — well,  sir,  kids  at  the  door  waiting  for  you 
to  see  them,  sir." 

"Two  kids!  What — from  the  goat  show  that's 
going  on  at  the  Westminster  Aquarium!"  cried  the 
Prophet  in  great  surprise. 

"Maybe,  sir.  I  can't  say,  indeed,  sir.  Am  I  to  show 
them  in,  sir?" 

"Show  them  in!  Are  you  gone  mad,  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand? They  must  be  driven  out  at  once.  If  Mrs. 
Merillia  were  to  see  them,  she  might  be  greatly 
alarmed.  I'll — I'll — follow  me,  Mr.  Ferdinand, 
closely." 

So  saying  the  Prophet  stepped  valiantly  into  the 
hall.  There,  by  the  umbrella  stand,  stood  two  small 
children,  boy  and  girl,  very  neatly  dressed  in  a  sailor 
suit  and  a  grey  merino.  The  little  boy  held  in  his 
hand  a  large  round  straw  hat,  on  the  blue  riband  of 
which  was  inscribed  in  letters  of  gold,  "H.M.S.  Her- 
cules." The  little  girl  wore  a  pleasant  pigtail  tied  with 
a  riband  of  the  same  hue. 

The  meaning  of  Mr.  Ferdinand's  vulgar  and  mis- 
leading slang  suddenly  dawned  on  the  Prophet.  He 


1 88    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

cast  a  look  of  very  grave  rebuke  on  Mr.  Ferdinand, 
then,  walking  up  to  the  little  boy  and  girl  he  said  in 
his  most  ingratiating  manner, — 

'Well,  my  little  ones,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Not  so  little,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,"  replied 
the  boy  in  a  piping,  but  very  self-possessed  voice. 
"Can  we  see  you  in  private  for  a  moment?" 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,"  added  the  little  girl. 
"Si  sit  prudentium." 

"Dentia,  Corona,"  corrected  the  little  boy. 

The  Prophet  turned  white  to  the  very  lips. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  he  said  in  a  violently  furtive 
manner.  "Come  this  way,  my  children.  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand, if  Mrs.  Merillia  should  inquire  for  me,  you  will 
say  that  I'm  busy  writing — no,  no,  just  busy — very 
busy." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I'm  not  to  be  disturbed.    This  way,  my  little  ones." 

"Not  so  little,  Mr.  Vivian;"  piped  again  the  small 
boy,  trotting  obediently,  with  his  sister,  into  the 
Prophet's  library,  the  door  of  which  was  immediately 
closed  behind  them. 

"Well,  I'm—"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand.  "Kids  in  the 
libery!  I  am — Gustavus!" 

He  rushed  frenetically  towards  the  servants'  hall  to 
confer  upon  the  situation  with  his  intellectual  sub- 
ordinate. 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  was  closeted  with  the  two 
kids. 

"Pray  sit  down,"  he  said,  very  nervously,  and  smil- 
ing forcibly.  "Pray  sit  down,  my  dears." 

The  kids  obeyed  with  aplomb,  keeping  their  large 
and  strained  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Prophet. 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      189 

"Is  it  Coronus  and  Capricorna?"  continued  the 
Prophet,  with  an  effort  after  blithe  familiarity.  "Is  it?" 

"No,"  piped  the  little  boy.  "It  isn't  Coronus  and 
Capricorna." 

A  marvellous  sensation  of  relief  invaded  the 
Prophet. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  ejaculated  in  a  sigh.  "I 
thought  it  must  be." 

"It's  Corona  and  Capricornus,"  continued  the  little 
boy.  "And  we've  brought  you  a  letter  from  pater 
familias." 

"And  mater  familiaris,"  added  the  little  girl. 

"Milias,  Corona,"  corrected  the  little  boy.  "Here 
it  is,  Mr.  Vivian,"  he  added,  drawing  a  large  missive 
from  the  breast  of  his  blue-and-white  sailor's  blouse. 
"Pater  and  mater  familias  couldn't  bring  it  themselves, 
because  he  said  it  wasn't  safe  for  him  to  come,  and 
she's  lying  down  ill  at  what  you  sent  to  her.  It  wasn't 
kind  of  you,  was  it?" 

So  saying,  he  handed  the  missive  to  the  Prophet, 
who  took  it  anxiously. 

"Would  you  like  some  cake,  my  lit — I  mean,  my 
dears,  while  I  read  this?" 

"No,  thank  you.  Cake  is  bad  for  us  in  the  morning," 
replied  the  little  boy.  "You  shouldn't  eat  it  so  early." 

The  Prophet  was  about  to  reply  that  he  never  did 
when  it  struck  him  that  argument  would  probably  be 
useless.  He,  therefore,  hastened  to  open  the  letter, 
which  proved  to  be  from  Mr.  Sagittarius,  and  which 
ran  as  follows : — 

"SiR, — Your  terrible  and  mysterious  wire,  coming 
after  your  equally  terrible  and  mysterious  silence,  has 


190     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

caused  devastation  in  a  hitherto  peaceful  and  happy 
family.  To  what  peril  do  you  allude?  What  creature 
can  there  be  so  base  as  to  wish  to  take  my  life  merely 
on  account  of  my  sending  you  telegrams?  Madame 
has  been  driven  to  despair  by  your  announcement,  and 
I,  myself,  although  no  ordinary  man,  am,  very  rightly 
and  properly,  going  about  in  fear  of  my  life  since 
receipt  of  your  last  telegram.  Under  these  circs,  and 
being  unable  to  wait  upon  you  ourselves  for  a  full 
explanation,  we  are  sending  our  very  life-blood  to  you 
— per  rail  and  'bus — with  strict  orders  to  bring  you 
at  once  to  the  banks  of  the  Mouse,  there  to  confer 
with  Madame  and  self  and  arrange  such  measures  of 
precaution  as  are  suited  to  the  requirements  of  the 
situation  as  indicated  by  you. 

"JUPITER  SAGITTARIUS. 

"P.S. — You  are  to  bring  with  you,  according  to 
solemn  oath,  all  prophecy  concerning  grandmother, 
Crab,  etc.,  gathered  up  to  date,  together  with  full  de- 
tails of  same's  removal  from  the  bottle,  cutting  of  her 
first  tooth,  short-coating,  going  into  skirts,  putting  of 
the  hair  up,  day  of  marriage  and  widowhood,  illnesses 
— especially  rashes — and  so  forth.  Ab  origino. 

"MADAME  SAGITTARIUS." 

On  reading  this  communication  the  Prophet  felt 
that  all  further  struggle  was  useless.  Fate — cruel  and 
remorseless  Fate — had  him  in  her  grasp.  He  could 
only  bow  his  head  and  submit  to  her  horrible  decrees. 
He  could  only  go  upstairs  and  at  once  prepare  for  the 
journey  to  the  Mouse. 

He  laid  the  letter  down  and  got  up,  fixing  his  eyes 


Prophet  is  Interviewed  by  Two  Kids      191 

upon  the  kids,  who  sat  solemnly  awaiting  his  further 
procedure. 

"You — I  suppose  you  know,  my  little  ones,  what 
this — what  you  have  to  do?"  he  said. 

"Not  so  little,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,"  returned 
the  boy.  "Yes,  we've  got  to  take  you  with  us  to  see 
pater  familias." 

"And  mater  familiar — familias,"  added  the  little 
girl. 

"I  see — you  know,"  said  the  Prophet,  in  a  despairing 
voice.  "Very  well.  Wait  here  quietly — very  quietly, 
while  I  go  and  get  ready." 

"And  please  don't  forget  the  Crab  and  grandmother, 
rashes,  et  ceterus,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"Tera  Corona,"  piped  her  brother. 

"I  won't,"  said  the  Prophet.    "I  will  not." 

And  he  tottered  out  of  the  room,  carrying  the  Sagit- 
tarius letter  in  his  hand. 

In  the  hall  he  paused  for  a  moment,  holding  on  to 
the  balusters  and  re-reading  his  directions.  Then  he 
crawled  slowly  up  the  stairs  and  sought  his  grand- 
mother's room. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   PROPHET   JOURNEYS   TO   THE    MOUSE  .. 

MRS.  MERILLIA  was  just  beginning  to  recover  from 
the  prostration  of  the  preceding  day  when  the  Prophet 
came  into  the  room  where  she  was  seated  with  Mrs. 
Fancy  Quinglet.  She  looked  up  at  him  almost  brightly, 
but  started  when  she  saw  how  agitated  he  seemed. 

"Grannie,"  said  the  Prophet,  abruptly,  "you  would 
tell  me  anything,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Why,  of  course,  my  dear  boy.    But  what  about?" 

"About — about  yourself?" 

Mrs.  Merillia  looked  very  much  astonished. 

"There  is  nothing  to  hide,  Hennessey,"  she  said 
with  gentle  dignity.  "You  know  that." 

"I  do,  I  do,"  cried  the  Prophet,  passionately. 
"Yours  has  been  the  best,  the  sweetest  life  the  world 
has  ever  known!" 

"Well,  I  don't  wish  to  imply—" 

"But  I  do,  grannie,  I  do.  Can  Fancy  leave  us  for 
a  moment?" 

"Certainly.    Fancy,  you  can  go  to  your  tatting." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Mr.  Hennessey  has  something  to  explain  to  me." 

"Oh,  ma'am,  the  homes  that  have  been  broke  up 
by  explainings !" 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      193 

And  with  this,  as  the  Prophet  thought,  appallingly 
appropriate  exclamation,  Mrs.  Fancy  hurried  fever- 
ishly from  the  room. 

"Now  what  is  the  question  you  wish  to  ask  me, 
Hennessey?"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  with  a  soft  dignity. 

"There  are — one  moment — there  are  eight  questions, 
grannie/'  responded  the  Prophet,  shrinking  visibly 
before  the  dread  necessity  by  which  he  found  himself 
confronted. 

"Eight!     So  many?" 

"Yes,  oh,  indeed,  yes." 

"Well,  my  dear,  and  what  are  they?" 

"The  first  is — is — grannie,  when  were  you  removed 
from — from  the  bottle?" 

A  very  delicate  flush  crept  into  Mrs.  Merillia's  charm- 
ing cheeks. 

"The  bottle,  Hennessey!  Never,  never!"  she  said, 
with  a  sort  of  pathetic  indignation.  "How  could  you 
suppose — I — the  bottle — " 

Her  pretty  old  voice  died  away. 

"Answered,  darling  grannie,  answered!"  ejaculated 
the  Prophet.  "Please — please  don't!"  And  now — 
your  first  tooth?" 

"My  first  what !"  cried  Mrs.  Merillia  in  almost  terri- 
fied amazement. 

"Tooth — when  did  you  cut  it?" 

"I  have  no  idea.    Surely,  Hennessey — " 

"Answered,  dearest  grannie!"  cried  the  Prophet, 
with  gathering  agitation.  "Did  you  ever  wear  a  short 
coat?" 

"I— I'm  not  a  man!" 

"You  didn't!    Always  a  skirt?" 

"Of  course!    Why—" 


1 94    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"And  you're  sixty-eight  on  the  twentieth.  So  for 
sixty-eight  years  you've  always  worn  a  skirt.  That's 
four." 

"Four  what?    Are  you — ?" 

"When  did  you  put  your  hair  up,  grannie,  darling?" 

"My  hair — never.  You  know  I've  always  had  a 
maid  to  do  these  things  for  me.  Fancy — " 

"Of  course.  You've  never  put  your  hair  up.  I 
might  have  known.  You  were  married  very  young, 
weren't  you?" 

"Ah,  yes.  On  my  seventeenth  birthday,  and  was 
left  a  widow  in  exactly  two  years'  time.  Your  poor 
dear  granf — " 

"Thank  you,  grannie,  thank  you !    Seven !" 

"Seven  what,  Hennessey?     One  would  th — ' 

"And  now,  dear  grannie,  tell  me  one  thing,  only  one 
little  thing  more.  About — that  is,  talking  of  rashes — 

"Rashers!" 

"No,  grannie,  rashes — illnesses,  you  know,  that  take 
an  epidemic  form." 

"Well,  what  about  them?  Surely  there  isn't  an 
epidemic  in  the  square?" 

"How  many  have  you  had,  grannie?" 

"Where?    Had  what?" 

"Here,  anywhere,  in  the  square,  grannie." 

"Had  what  in  the  square  ?" 

"Rashes." 

"I !    Have  a  rash  in  the  square !" 

"Exactly.  Have  you  ever — an  epidemic,  you  know  ?" 

"I  have  an  epidemic  in  Berkeley  Square !  You  must 
be  crazy,  Hennessey!" 

"Probably,  very  likely,  grannie.  But  have  you? 
Tell  me  quickly !  Have  you  ?" 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      195 

"Certainly  not !    As  if  any  gentlewoman — " 

"Answered,  grannie,  answered  !     Eight !" 

"Eight  what?" 

"Questions.  Thank  you,  dearest  grannie.  I  knew 
you'd  tell  me,  I  knew  you  would !" 

And  the  Prophet  rushed  from  the  room,  leaving 
Mrs.  Merillia  in  a  condition  that  cannot  be  described 
and  that  not  all  the  subsequent  ministrations  of  Mrs. 
Fancy  Quinglet  were  able  to  alleviate. 

Having  reached  the  hall,  the  Prophet  hastily  put 
on  his  coat  and  hat  and  called  Mr.  Ferdinand  to  him. 

"Mr.  Ferdinand,"  he  said,  assuming  a  fixed  and 
stony  dignity  to  conceal  his  agitation  and  dismay,  "I 
am  leaving  the  house  at  once  with  the — the  lady  and 
gentleman  who  are  in  the  library." 

At  this  description  of  the  kids  Mr.  Ferdinand  was 
very  nearly  seized  with  convulsions.  However,  as  he 
said  nothing  and  merely  wrung  his  large  hands,  the 
Prophet,  after  a  slight  pause,  continued, — 

"I  may  be  away  some  time,  so  if  Mrs.  Merillia 
should  make  any  inquiry,  you  will  say  that  I  have  left 
to  pay  a  visit  to  some  friends." 

"Yes,  sir.  Shall  I  tell  Gustavus  to  pack  your 
things  ?" 

"Certainly  not." 

The  Prophet  was  turning  towards  the  library  when 
Mr.  Ferdinand  added, — 

"When  shall  we  expect  you  back,  sir?  Am  I  to 
forward  your  letters?" 

"No,  no.    I  shall  return  in  a  few  hours." 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  sir.     And  if  any  telegrams — " 

"There  will  not  be  any.  I  am  now  going  to  answer 
the  telegrams  in  person." 


196    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Come  along,  my  children,"  cried  the  Prophet, 
putting  his  head  into  the  library. 

"Not  your  children,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,"  re- 
plied the  little  boy.  "Corona,  come  on." 

"How  do  we  go,  my  dears?"  asked  the  Prophet, 
with  an  attempt  at  gaiety,  and  endeavouring  to  ignore 
the  prostrated  demeanour  of  Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  was 
in  waiting  to  open  the  hall  door. 

"By  the  purple  'bus  as  far  as  the  Pork  Butcher's 
Rest,"  piped  the  little  boy — (at  this  point  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand could  not  refrain  from  a  slight  exclamation) — 
"then  we  take  the  train  to  the  Mouse,  Mouse,  Mouse." 

"Mus,  Mus,  Mus,"  chanted  the  little  girl. 

As  Mr.  Ferdinand  was  unable  to  open  the  door, 
paralysis  having  apparently  supervened,  the  Prophet 
did  so,  and  the  cheerful  little  party  emerged  upon  the 
step  to  find  Lady  Enid  Thistle  in  the  very  act  of  pressing 
the  electric  bell.  When  she  beheld  the  vivacious  trio, 
all  agog  for  their  morning's  expedition,  come  thus 
suddenly  upon  her,  she  cried  out  musically, — 

"Why,  where  are  you  off  to?" 

The  Prophet  was  much  embarrassed  by  the  en- 
counter. 

"I  am  taking  these  lit" — he  caught  the  staring 
eye  of  Capricornus — "these  friends  of  mine  for  a  little 
walk,"  he  said. 

"I'll  come  with  you,"  said  Lady  Enid,  with  an 
almost  Highland  decision.  "I've  got  something  to  say 
to  you,  and  we  can  talk  as  we  go." 

She  glanced  very  inquisitively  indeed  at  the  two 
children,  who  had  begun  to  frisk  at  sight  of  the  square 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      197 

all  bathed  in  winter  sunshine.    The  Prophet  was  very 
much  upset. 

"Don't  you  think — "  he  began. 

"It  will  be  delightful  to  have  some  exercise,"  she 
interrupted  firmly.  "Which  way  are  you  going?" 

"Which  way!    Oh,  to — towards — " 

The  Prophet  stopped.  He  did  not  know  from  what 
point  the  purple  'bus  started  to  gain  the  Pork  Butcher's 
Rest.  Capricornus  hastened  to  inform  him. 

"We  take  the  purple  'bus  at  the  corner  of  Air 
Street,"  he  piped. 

"The  purple  'bus!"  cried  Lady  Enid.  "The  purple 
'bus!" 

She  glanced  searchingly  at  the  Prophet. 

"Ah!"  she  murmured,  "so  you  are  taking  a  purple 
'bus  to  your  double  life !" 

He  could  not  deny  it.  They  were  now  all  walking 
forward  in  the  sun  and  as  the  little  Corona  and  Capri- 
cornus became  speedily  intent  upon  the  wonders  of 
this  central  district,  Lady  Enid  and  the  Prophet  were 
able  to  have  a  quiet  word  or  two  together. 

"I  came  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "that  Mrs.  Vane 
Bridgeman  will  expect  you  to-night  at — " 

"I  am  engaged  at  eleven,"  cried  the  Prophet,  in 
despair  at  the  imposition  of  this  fresh  burden  upon 
his  weary  shoulders. 

"I  know.    To  the  Lord  Chancellor,  but—" 

"No.  I  have  an  engagement  which  I  dare  not  break, 
at  home." 

"Really !" 

She  gazed  at  him  with  her  large,  handsome  grey 
eyes,  and  added, — 


198    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  do  believe  you're  silly  enough  to  live  your  double 
life  at  home  sometimes.    How  splendid !" 
"No,  no!     I  assure  you — " 

"Of  course  you  do !  You  dear  foolish  thing !  You're 
ever  so  much  sillier  than  I  am.  You're  my  master." 

"No,  indeed,  no,  no!" 

"But  you  can  go  to  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  for  an  hour 
easily.  She  expects  you  and  I've  promised  that  you 
will  go." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you,  but  really — " 

"So  that's  settled.  You'll  meet  me  there,  but  don't 
forget  I'm  Miss  Minerva  Partridge.  The  address  is 
Zoological  House,  Regent's  Park,  that  big  house  in 
a  garden  just  outside  the  Zoo." 

"The  big  house  in  the  Zoological  Gardens,"  said  the 
Prophet,  feebly.  "Thank  you  very  much." 

"No,  no,  outside  the  Zoo.  And  then  we  can  arrange 
to-night  about  your  introducing  her  to  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius." 

"Hush !    Hush !"  whispered  the  Prophet. 

But  he  was  too  late.  The  long  ears  of  the  little 
pitchers  had  caught  the  well-known  word. 

"Why,  that's  pater  familias,"  piped  the  little  Capri- 
cornus. 

"And  mater  familiaris,"  added  the  little  Corona. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  cried  Lady  Enid  to  the 
Prophet,  "that  these  are  the  children  of  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius?" 

The  Prophet  bent  his  head. 

"How  very  interesting!"  said  Lady  Enid.  "Every- 
thing is  working  out  most  beautifully.  I  must  get 
them  some  chocolates." 

And  she  immediately  stepped  into  a  confectioner's 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      199 

and  came  out  with  a  beautiful  box  of  bon-bons,  tied 
with  amethyst  ribbon,  which  she  gave  to  the  delighted 
children. 

"I  know  your  dear  father,"  she  said.  "At  least 
I  know  who  he  is." 

And  she  looked  firmly  at  the  Prophet,  who  dropped 
his  eyes.  They  were  now  at  the  corner  of  Air  Street, 
and  thje  purple  'bus  could  be  seen  looming  brilliantly 
in  the  distance. 

"Good-bye,  Lady  Enid,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"Oh,  I'll  see  you  off,"  she  replied,  evidently  resolved 
to  satisfy  some  further,  unexpressed  curiosity. 

"There  it  is!"  cried  Capricornus.  "It's  coming! 
There  it  is!" 

"Isn't  it  pretty?"  shrieked  the  little  Corona,  who 
was  evidently  growing  much  excited  by  the  chocolates 
and  the  centralness  of  the  whole  thing.  "Let's  go  on 
the  top !  Let's  go  on  the  top !" 

She  began  to  jump  on  the  pavement,  and  her  brother 
was  just  about  to  follow  her  example  when  some  sud- 
den idea  struck  him  into  gravity.  He  turned  to  the 
Prophet  and  exclaimed  solemnly, — 

"Oh,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,  have  you  got  the 
crab  with  you?" 

"The  crab!"  cried  Lady  Enid,  with  much  vivacity. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  it's  all  right !"  said  the  Prophet, 
hastily. 

"Not  your  boy,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Vivian,"  returned 
the  little  inquisitor.  "And  have  you  got  the  first 
tooth?" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"And  the  rashes,  and  the  honoured  grandmother, 
and—" 


2oo    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I've  got  everything,"  cried  the  Prophet,  "every 
single  thing!" 

"Because  mater  familias  said  I  was  to  make  you 
bring  them  if  I  stayed  for  them  all  day." 

"Yes,  yes,  they're  all  here — every  one." 

Lady  Enid  was  gazing  at  the  Prophet's  slim  form 
with  almost  passionate  curiosity.  It  was  evidently 
a  problem  to  her  how  he  had  managed  to  conceal  so 
many  various  commodities  about  his  person  without 
altering  his  shape.  However,  she  had  no  time  to  study 
the  matter,  for  at  this  moment  the  purple  'bus  jerked 
along  the  kerb,  and  the  voice  of  the  conductor  was 
heard  crying, — 

"Pork  Butcher's  Rest!  All  the  way  one  penny! 
Pork — penny — all  the  way — Butcher's — Rest— -one — 
Pork  —  all — Pork — penny — Pork — Butcher's  — Pork 
— Rest — Pork — penny !" 

With  a  hasty  farewell  the  Prophet,  accompanied, 
and  indeed  closely  clutched,  by  the  little  Corona  and 
Capricornus,  scrambled  fanatically,  and  not  without 
two  or  three  heavy  falls,  to  the  summit  of  the  'bus, 
while  Lady  Enid  read  the  legend  printed  on  it  with 
a  smile,  ere  she  turned  to  walk  home,  putting  two  and 
two  together,  and  thinking,  with  keen  feminine  satis- 
faction, how  useless  in  the  long  run  are  all  the  negatives 
of  man. 

In  later  years,  though  many  memories  intervene, 
the  Prophet  will  never  forget  his  journey  to  the  banks 
of  the  Mouse.  Always  it  seemed  very  strange  to  him 
and  dream-like,  that  everlasting  journey  upon  the 
purple  'bus,  complicated  by  the  chatter  of  the  younger 
scions  of  the  Malkiel  dynasty,  and  by  the  shrill  cries 
of  the  conductor  summoning  the  passers-by  to  hasten 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      201 

to  that  place  of  repose  consecrated  to  the  worthy  and 
hard-working  individuals  who  drew  their  modest  in- 
comes from  the  pig.  The  character  of  the  streets 
changed  as  the  central  districts  were  left  behind,  and 
a  curious  scent,  the  scent  of  Suburbia,  seemed  to  float 
between  the  tall  chimneys  in  the  morose  atmosphere. 
The  purple  chariot,  which  rolled  on  and  on  like  the 
chariot  of  Fate,  drew  gradually  away  from  the  large 
thoroughfares  into  mean  streets,  whose  air  of  dull 
gentility  was  for  ever  autumnal,  and  the  Prophet,  on 
passing  some  gigantic  gasworks,  mechanically  won- 
dered whether  it  might  not,  perhaps,  be  that  monument 
in  whose  shadow  Malkiel  the  First  had  lived  and  died. 
Once,  looking  up  at  the  black  sky,  he  remarked  to  the 
little  Capricornus  that  it  was  evidently  going  to  rain. 

"No,  Mr.  Vivian,"  replied  the  boy.  "It  won't  rain 
hard  this  week.  January's  a  fine  month,  but  there'll 
be  heavy  floods  in  March,  especially  along  the  banks 
of  the  Thames." 

"And  in  February  there'll  be  such  a  lot  of  scarlet 
fever  in  the  southern  portions  of  England,"  added  the 
little  Corona.  "Oh,  Corney,  just  look  at  that  kitty  on 
the  airey  railings !" 

"Area,  Corona,"  corrected  her  brother.  "Oh,  my! 
ain't  it  funny?" 

The  Prophet  remembered  that  he  was  travelling 
with  the  scions  of  a  prophetic  house. 

It  seemed  many  years  before  the  'bus  stopped  before 
a  brick  building  full  of  quart  pots,  situated  upon  a 
gentle  eminence  sloping  to  a  coal-yard,  and  the  voice 
of  the  conductor  proclaimed  that  the  place  of  repose 
was  reached.  The  Prophet  and  his  diminutive  guides 
descended  from  the  roof  and  were  shortly  in  a  train 


2O2     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

puffing  between  the  hunched  backs  of  abominable  little 
houses,  sooty  as  street  cats  and  alive  with  crying 
babies.  Then  bits  of  waste  land  appeared,  bald  wilder- 
nesses in  which  fragments  of  broken  crockery  hiber- 
nated with  old  tin  cans  and  kettles  yellow  as  dying 
leaves.  A  furtive  brown  rivulet  wandered  here  and 
there  like  a  thing  endeavouring  to  conceal  itself  and 
unable  to  find  a  hiding-place. 

"That's  the  Mouse,  Mr.  Vivian,"  remarked  Capri- 
cornus,  proudly.  "We  shall  soon  be  there." 

"Ridiculum  mus,"  rejoined  his  sister,  who  evidently 
took  after  her  learned  mother. 

"Culus,  Corona;  and  you're  not  to  say  that.  Pater 
familias  says  that  the  Mouse  is  a  noble  stream.  We 
get  out  here,  Mr.  Vivian." 

Here  proved  to  be  a  wayside  station  on  the  very 
bank  of  the  noble  stream,  and  on  the  edge  of  a  piece 
of  waste  ground  so  large  that  it  might  almost  have 
been  called  country. 

The  Prophet  and  the  two  kids  set  off  across  this 
earth,  which  was  named  by  the  inhabitants  "the  Com- 
mon." In  the  distance  rose  a  fringe  of  detached  brick 
and  stone  villas  towards  which  Capricornus  now 
pointed  a  forefinger  that  trembled  with  pride. 

"That's  where  we  live,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
grown  squeaky  from  conceit. 

"Dulce  domus,"  piped  his  sister,  clutching  the  skirt 
of  the  Prophet's  coat,  and,  thus  supported,  performing 
several  very  elaborate  dancing  steps  upon  the  clayey 
soil  over  which  he  was  feebly  staggering.  "Dulce, 
dulce,  dulce  domus.  Look  at  that  rat,  Corney !" 

A  large,  raking  rodent,  indeed,  at  that  instant 
emerged  from  the  wreckage  of  what  had  once  been 


The  Prophet  Journeys  to  the  Mouse      203 

a  copper  cauldron  near  by,  and  walked  slowly  away 
towards  a  slope  of  dust  garnished  with  broken  bottles 
and  abandoned  cabbage  stalks.  The  Prophet  shud- 
dered and  longed  to  flee,  but  the  two  kids,  as  if  divin- 
ing his  thought,  now  clasped  his  hands  and  led  him 
firmly  forward  to  a  yellow  villa,  fringed  with  white 
Bath  stone  and  garnished  plentifully  with  griffins. 
From  its  flat  front  shot  ostentatiously  forth  a  porch 
adorned  with  Roman  columns  which  commanded  a 
near  view  of  the  Mouse,  and  before  the  porch  was 
a  small  garden  in  which  several  healthy-looking  net- 
tles had  made  their  home. 

As  the  Prophet  and  the  two  kids  approached  this 
delightful  abode,  a  white  face  appeared,  gluing  itself 
to  the  pane  of  an  upper  window. 

"There's  pater  familias  !"  piped  Capricornus.  "Don't 
he  look  ill?" 

As  they  mounted  the  flight  of  imitation  marble  steps 
the  face  disappeared  abruptly. 

"He's  coming  to  let  us  in,"  said  Capricornus. 
"You're  sure  you've  brought  the  crab  and  all  the 
rashes?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"Because,  if  you  haven't,  I  don't  know  whatever 
mater  familias'll — " 

At  this  moment  the  portal  of  the  lodge  was  fur- 
tively opened  about  half  an  inch,  and  a  very  small 
segment  of  ashen-coloured  human  face,  containing 
a  large  and  apprehensive  eye,  was  shown  in  the  aper- 
ture. 

"Are  you  alone?"  said  the  hollow  voice  of  Mr. 
Sagittarius. 

"Quite,  quite  alone,"  said  the  Prophet,  reassuringly. 


204    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"It's  all  right,  pater  familias!"  cried  Capricornus. 
"He's  brought  all  the  rashes  and  the  first  tooth  and 
everything.  I  made  him." 

"I  don't  think  he  wanted  to,"  added  the  little  Corona, 
suddenly  developing  malice. 

"I've  taken  this  long  journey,  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  said 
the  Prophet,  with  a  remnant  of  self-respect,  "at  your 
special  request.  Am  I  to  be  permitted  to  come  in?" 

"If  you're  sure  you're  quite  alone,"  returned  the 
sage,  showing  a  slightly  enlarged  segment  of  face. 

"I  am  quite  sure — positive !" 

At  this  the  door  was  opened  just  sufficiently  to  admit 
the  passage  of  one  thin  person  at  a  time,  and,  in  single 
file,  the  Prophet,  Corona  and  Capricornus  passed  into 
the  lodge. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    PROPHET    CREATES   A    DIVERSION    AT    HIS    OWN 
EXPENSE 

ON  stepping  into  a  small  vestibule,  paved  with 
black  and  white  lozenges,  and  fitted  up  with  an  iron 
umbrella  stand,  a  Moorish  lamp  and  a  large  yellow 
china  pug  dog,  the  Prophet  found  himself  at  once 
faced  by  Mr.  Sagittarius,  whose  pallid  countenance, 
nervous  eye  and  suspicious  demeanour  plainly  pro- 
claimed him  to  be,  as  he  had  stated,  very  rightly  and 
properly  going  about  in  fear  of  his  life. 

"Go  to  the  schoolroom,  my  darlings,"  he  whispered 
to  his  children.  "Why,  what  have  you  there?" 

"Choclets,"  said  Capricornus. 

"From  the  pretty  lady,  mulius  pulchrum,"  added 
the  little  Corona. 

"Who  is  a  mulibus  pulchrum,  my  love?"  asked  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  before  Capricornus  had  time  to  correct 
his  sister's  Latin. 

"It  was  Miss  Minerva,"  said  the  Prophet.  "We 
happened  to  meet  her." 

"Indeed,  sir.  Run  away,  my  pretties,  and  don't  eat 
more  than  one  each,  or  mater  familias  will  not  ap- 
prove." 

Then,  as  the  little  ones  disappeared  into  the  shadows 
of  the  region  above,  he  added  to  the  Prophet, — 


206     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"You've  nearly  been  the  death  of  Madame,  sir." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"Sorrow  is  no  salve,  sir,  no  salve  at  all.  Were  it 
not  for  her  books  I  fear  we  might  have  lost  her." 

"Good  gracious!" 

"Mercifully  her  books  have  comforted  her.  She  is 
resting  among  them  now.  Madame  is  possessed  of 
a  magnificent  library,  sir,  encyclopaedic  in  its  scope 
and  cosmopolitan  in  its  point  of  view.  In  it  are  repre- 
sented every  age  and  every  race  since  the  dawn  of 
letters ;  thousands  upon  thousands  of  authors,  sir : 
Rabelais  and  Dean  Farrar,  Lamb  and  the  Hindoos, 
Mettlelink  and  the  pith  of  the  great  philosophers  such 
as  John  Oliver  Hobbes,  Locke,  Hume  and  Earl 
Spencer;  the  biting  sarcasm  of  Hiny,  the  pathos  of 
Peps,  the  oratorical  master-strokes  of  such  men  as 
Gladstone,  Demosthenes  and  Keir  Hardie;  the  romance 
of  Kipling,  sir,  of  Bret  Harte  and  Danty  Rossini ;  the 
poetry  of  Kempis  a  Browning  and  of  Elizabeth 
Thomas  Barrett — all,  all  are  there  bound  in  Persian 
calf.  Among  these  she  seeks  for  solace.  To  these  she 
flies  in  hours  of  anguish." 

"Does  she  indeed?"  said  the  Prophet,  feeling  thor- 
oughly overwhelmed. 

"She  desires  me  to  take  you  to  her  at  once,  sir,  there 
to  confer  and" — he  lowered  his  voice  and  trembled 
visibly — "to  arrange  measures  for  the  protection  of 
my  life." 

The  Prophet  found  himself  wishing  that  he  had 
been  less  precipitate  in  covertly  alluding  to  SirTiglath's 
long  desire  of  assault  and  battery,  but  before  he  had 
time  to  wish  anything  for  more  than  half  a  minute, 
Mr.  Sagittarius  had  guided  him  ceremoniously  across 


The  Prophet  Creates  a  Diversion     207 

the  hall  and  was  turning  the  handle  of  a  door  that  was 
decorated  with  black  and  scarlet  paint. 

"Here,  sir,"  he  whispered,  "you  will  find  Madame 
surrounded  by  the  authors  whom  she  loves,  by  their 
portraits,  their  biographies  and  their  writings.  Here 
she  communes  with  the  great  philosophers,  sir,  the 
poets,  the  historians  and  the  humourists  of  the  entire 
world,  from  the  earliest  days  down  to  this  very  mo- 
ment— in  Persian  calf,  sir." 

He  gazed  awfully  at  the  Prophet,  and  gently  opened 
the  door  of  this  temple  of  the  intellect. 

The  Prophet  expected  to  find  himself  ushered  into 
a  gigantic  chamber,  lined  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 
shelves  that  groaned  beneath  their  burden  of  the  litera- 
ture of  genius.  Indeed  he  had,  in  fancy,  beheld  even 
the  chairs  and  couches  covered  with  stacks  of  volumes, 
the  very  floor  littered  with  the  choicest  productions  of 
the  brains  of  dead  and  living.  His  surprise  was, 
therefore,  very  great  when,  on  passing  through  the 
door,  he  beheld  Madame  Sagittarius  reposing  at  full 
length  upon  a  maroon  sofa  in  a  small  apartment,  whose 
bare  walls  were  entirely  innocent  of  book-shelves. 
Indeed  the  only  thing  of  the  sort  which  was  visible 
was  a  dwarf  revolving  bookcase  which  stood  beside 
the  sofa,  and  contained  some  twenty  volumes  bound, 
as  Mr.  Sagittarius  had  stated,  in  Persian  calf,  each 
of  these  volumes  being  numbered  and  adorned  with 
a  label  on  which  was  printed  in  letters  of  gold,  "The 
Library  of  Famous  Literature:  Edited  by  Dr.  Carter. 
Tasty  Tit-bits  from  all  Times." 

"Madame,  sir,  in  her  library,"  whispered  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius by  the  door.  "She  is  absorbed,  sir,  and  does 
not  notice  us." 


208    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

In  truth  Madame  Sagittarius  did  appear  to  be 
absorbed,  either  in  thought,  or  something  else,  for  her 
eyes  were  closed,  her  mouth  was  open,  and  a  sound 
of  regular  breathing  filled  the  little  room. 

"She  is  thinking  out  some  problem,  sir,"  continued 
Mr.  Sagittarius.  "She  is  communing  with  the  mighty 
dead.  Sophronia,  my  love,  Sophronia,  Capricornus 
has  brought  the  gentleman  according  to  your  orders. 
Sophy !  Sophy !" 

His  final  utterances,  which  were  somewhat  strident, 
caused  Madame  Sagittarius  to  come  away  from  her 
communion  with  the  mighty  dead  with  a  loud  ejacula- 
tion of  the  nature  of  a  snort  combined  with  a  hissing 
whistle,  to  kick  up  her  indoor  kid  boots  into  the  air, 
turn  upon  her  right  elbow,  and  present  a  countenance 
marked  with  patches  of  red  and  white,  and  a  pair  of 
goggling,  and  yet  hazy,  eyes  to  the  intruders  upon  her 
intellectual  exertions. 

"Mr.  Vivian  has  come,  Sophronia,  according  to 
your  directions." 

Madame  uttered  a  second  snort,  brought  her  feet 
to  the  floor,  arranged  her  face  in  a  dignified  expres- 
sion with  one  fair  hand,  breathed  heavily,  and  finally 
bowed  to  the  Prophet  with  majestic  reserve  and  re- 
marked, with  the  professional  click,— 

"I  was  immersed  in  thought  and  did  not  perceive 
your  entrance.  Mens  invictus  manetur.  Be  seated, 
I  beg." 

Here  certain  very  elaborate  contortions  and  swell- 
ings of  her  interesting  countenance  suggested  that  she 
was  repressing  a  good-sized  yawn,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  rearrange  her  features  with  both  hands 
before  she  could  continue. 


The  Prophet   Creates  a  Diversion      209 

"Thought  conquers  matter,  as  Plauto — I  should  say 
as  Flatus  very  rightly  observed." 

"Quite  so,"  assented  the  Prophet,  trying  to  live  up 
to  the  library,  but  scarcely  succeeding. 

"Even  in  the  days  of  the  great  Juvenile,"  proceeded 
Madame,  "to  whose  satires  I  owe  much" — here  she 
laid  a  loving  hand  upon  Vol.  2  of  the  "Library  of 
Famous  Literature." — "Long  ere  the  days  when  Lord 
Lytton  and  his  Caxtons  introduced  us  to  the  blessings 
of  the  printing  press  there  were  doubtless  ladies  who, 
like  myself,  could  forget  the  treachery  and  the  lies  of 
men  in  silent  communion  with  the  brains  of  the  de- 
parted. Far  better  to  be  Milton's  'II  Penserosero'  than 
Lord  Byron's  'L'Allegra !'  " 

To  this  pronunciamento,  which  was  interrupted 
several  times  by  more  alarming  contortions  of  the 
brain-worker's  face,  the  Prophet  replied  with  a  vague 
affirmative,  while  Mr.  Sagittarius  whispered, — 

"Her  whole  knowledge,  sir,  comes  straight  from 
there" — pointing  towards  the  dwarf  bookcase.  "She 
bought  it  on  the  instalment  system.  Dr.  Carter  has 
made  her  what  she  is !  That  man,  sir,  deserves  to  be 
canonised.  Eight  guineas  and  a  half,  sir,  and  such 
a  result!" 

"Such  a  result!"  the  Prophet  whispered  back. 

By  this  time  Madame  Sagittarius  had  apparently 
ceased  to  commune  with  the  dead,  for  her  striking 
face  assumed  a  more  normal  expression  of  feminine 
bitterness  as  she  realised  who  was  before  her,  and  she 
exclaimed  sharply, — 

"Oh,  so  you've  come  at  last,  Mr.  Vivian !  And  pray 
what  have  you  to  say?  What  about  the  rashes?  And 
what  is  this  danger  that  threatens  Mr.  Sagittarius?" 


2io    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"We'd  better  take  the  danger  first,  my  dear,"  said 
Mr.  Sagittarius,  with  grave  anxiety. 

"Very  well.  Not  that  it  should  be  the  most  impor- 
tant to  one  who  wears  the  toga  virilibus!" 

"True,  my  love.  Still,  to  take  it  first  will  clear  the 
ground,  I  think,  and  set  me  more  at  ease.  Well,  sir?" 

Thus  adjured,  the  Prophet  resolved  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  Sir  Tiglath's  declarations,  and  he  therefore 
replied, — 

"I  thought  it  only  right  to  wire  to  you  as  I  did, 
having  learnt  that  there  is  in  London  a  gentleman,  an 
eminent  man,  who  has  for  five-and- forty  years  been 
seeking  for  Malkiel  with  the  avowed  intention  of — 
of—" 

"Of  what,  sir,  of  what?"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius  with 
trembling  lips. 

"Of  doing  him  violence,"  replied  the  Prophet,  im- 
pressively. 

"What  is  the  gent's  name?"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  in 
great  agitation. 

"His  name!    Nomen  volens!"  added  Madame. 

"That,"  said  the  Prophet,  "I  prefer  not  to  say  at 
present." 

"But  why  should  he  desire  to—?" 

"Because  you  are  a  prophet." 

"There,  Jupiter !"  cried  Madame,  with  flushed  spite- 
fulness.  "What  have  I  always  said !  All  prophets  are 
what  they  call  outsiders — hors  d'oeuvres,  neither  more 
nor  less." 

"I  know,  my  love,  I  know.  But  how  should  this 
gent  recognise  me  for  a  prophet?  I'm  sure  my  dress, 
my  manner,  are  those  of  an  outside  broker,  as  I  have 
often  told  you,  Sophy.  How — " 


The  Prophet  Creates  a  Diversion      211 

"The  gentleman  has  not  yet  recognised  you,"  said 
the  Prophet.  "At  the  moment  he  believes  you  to  be 
an  American  syndicate." 

"Thank  mercy!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"But  one  can  never  tell,"  added  the  Prophet.  "He 
might  find  out." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Madame  at  this  juncture.  "We 
might  quite  well  have  gone  to  the  square  yesterday  as 
I  always  suspected.  But  you  are  so  timid,  Jupiter. 
Timeo  Dan — Dan — well,  Dan  something  or  other,  as 
Virgil  so  truly  says." 

"Cautious,  Sophronia,  only  cautious,  for  your  and 
the  children's  sakes!" 

"I  call  a  man  who's  afraid  even  when  he's  passing 
everywhere  as  an  American  syndicate  a  cowardly 
custard,"  rejoined  Madame,  who  appeared  to  be  suffer- 
ing under  that  peculiar  form  of  flushed  irritability 
which  is  apt  to  follow  on  heavy  thought,  indulged  in 
to  excess  in  a  recumbent  position  during  the  daytime. 
"There,  that's  settled.  So  now  let  us  get  to  business. 
Kindly  hand  me  your  prophecy  of  last  night,  Mr. 
Vivian." 

The  Prophet  drew  from  a  breast  pocket  a  sheet  or 
two  of  notepaper,  on  which  he  had  dotted  down,  in 
prophetic  form,  the  events  of  the  night  before. 
Madame  received  it  and  continued, — 

"Before  perusing  this  report,  Mr.  Vivian,  I  should 
wish  to  be  made  acquainted  with  those  particulars." 

"Which  ones  ?"  said  the  Prophet. 

"Of  your  grandmother's  career." 

"Oh,  I—" 

"Let  us  take  them  in  order,  please,  and  proceed 


2 1 2    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

parri  passo.  When  was  the  old  lady  removed  from 
the  bottle?" 

"Never,"  replied  the  Prophet,  firmly.    "Never." 

An  expression  of  incredulous  amazement  decorated 
the  obstreperous  features  of  Madame. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Vivian,  that  she  sucks 
it  still?"  she  inquired. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,  that  she  has  never  been  removed 
from  it,"  returned  the  Prophet,  with  energy. 

"Well,  sir,  she  must  be  very  partial  to  milk  and 
Indian  rubber,  very  partial  indeed !"  said  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius. "Go  on,  my  darling." 

"Her  first  tooth,  Mr.  Vivian — when  did  she  cut  it?" 

"She  has  no  idea." 

Madame  began  to  look  decidedly  grim. 

"Date  of  short-coating?"  she  rapped  out. 

"There  was  no  date.    She  never  wore  a  short  coat." 

"Do  you  desire  me  to  believe,  Mr.  Vivian,  that  the 
old  lady  has  been  going  about  in  long  clothes  ever  since 
she  was  born?"  inquired  Madame,  with  incredulous 
sarcasm. 

"Most  certainly  I  do,"  replied  the  Prophet. 

"Then  how  does  she  get  along,  pray?  Come! 
Come !" 

"She  has  always  worn  long  clothes,"  cried  the 
Prophet,  boldly  standing  up  for  his  beloved  relative, 
"and  always  will.  You  can  take  that  from  me,  Mad- 
ame Sagittarius.  I  know  my  grandmother,  and  I  am 
ready  to  pledge  my  honour  to  it." 

"Oh,  very  well.  She  must  be  a  very  remarkable 
lady.  That's  all  I  can  say.  When  did  she  put  her 
hair  up?" 

"Never.    She  has  never  put  it  up." 


The  Prophet   Creates  a  Diversion      213 

"She  has  never  put  her  hair  up !" 

"No,  never." 

"You  mean  to  say  that  your  grandmother  goes  about 
in  long  clothes  with  her  hair  down  in  the  central  dis- 
tricts ?"  cried  Madame  in  blank  amazement. 

"She  has  never  put  her  hair  up,"  answered  the 
Prophet,  with  almost  obstinate  determination. 

"Oh,  well — if  she  prefers!  But  I  wonder  what  the 
police  are  about!"  retorted  Madame.  "And  now  the 
rashes?" 

"There  are  none." 

But  at  this  Madame's  temper — already  somewhat 
upset  by  her  prolonged  communion  with  the  mighty 
dead — showed  symptoms  of  giving  way  altogether. 

"Rubbish,  Mr.  Vivian!"  she  said,  clicking  loudly 
and  passing  with  an  almost  upheaving  jerk  to  her 
upper  register!  "I'm  a  mother  and  was  once  a  child. 
Rubbish !  I  must  insist  upon  knowing  the  number  of 
the  rashes." 

"I  assure  you  there  are  none." 

"D'you  wish  me  to  believe  that  the  old  lady  has  gone 
about  all  her  life  in  the  Berkeley  Square  in  long 
clothes  and  her  hair  down,  with  her  lips  to  the  bottle 
and  never  had  a  rash  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  believe  that, 
Mr.  Vivian?" 

"Yes,  sir,  do  you  wish  Madame,  a  lady  of  deep 
education,  sir,  to  believe  that?"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"I  can  only  adhere  to  what  I  have  said,"  answered 
the  Prophet.  "My  grandmother  has  never  been  re- 
moved from  the  bottle,  has  never  worn  a  short  coat, 
has  never  put  her  hair  up  and  has  never  had  an  epi- 
demic in  Berkeley  Square." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is  that  she's  an  unnatural  old 


214     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

lady,"  cried  Madame,  with  obvious  temper,  tossing  her 
head  and  kicking  out  the  kid  boots,  as  if  seized  with 
the  sudden  desire  to  use  them  upon  a  human  football. 
"And  there's  not  many  like  her." 

"There  is  no  one  like  her,  no  one  at  all,"  said  the 
Prophet  with  fervour. 

"So  I  should  suppose,"  cried  Madame,  forgetting 
the  other  questions  as  to  the  day  of  marriage,  etc.,  in 
the  vexation  of  the  moment.  "She  must  certainly  be 
the  bird  of  whom  Phcenix  wrote  that  rose  from  ashes 
in  the  days  of  the  classics.  Rarum  avis  indeed !  Eh, 
Jupiter?" 

"Very  rarum,  my  dear,  very  indeed !"  responded  her 
husband,  with  imitative  sarcasm.  "An  avis  indeed, 
not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"De  Queechy  should  have  known  her,"  continued 
Madame.  "He  always  loved  everything  out  of  the 
common.  Well,  and  now  for  the  prophecy.  What  is 
all  this,  Mr.  Vivian?" 

"The  result  of  last  night's  observation,"  said  the 
Prophet. 

"Do  you  call  that  a  cycloidal  curve?"  asked  Madame, 
with  a  contralto  laugh  that  shook  the  library.  "Look, 
Jupiter!" 

Mr.  Sagittarius  glanced  over  his  wife's  heaving 
shoulder. 

"Very  poor,  my  dear,  very  irregular  indeed." 

"It's  the  best  I  could  do,"  said  the  Prophet,  still 
politely. 

"I  daresay,"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "I  daresay. 
Where's  your  star-map?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  Prophet. 
"I  left  it  in  the  pomade." 


The  Prophet  Creates  a  Diversion  '*  215 

"The  pomade !" 

"Yes,  the  butler's  own  special  pomade,  and  it  seems 
to  have  disappeared." 

"Very  careless,  very  careless  indeed.  Let's  see — 
prophecy  first,  then  how  arrived  at.  'Grandmother 
apparently  threatened  with  some  danger  at  night  in 
immediate  future.  Great  turmoil  in  the  house  during 
dark  hours.'  H'm!  'Some  stranger,  or  strangers, 
coming  into  her  life  and  causing  great  trouble  and 
confusion,  almost  resulting  in  despair,  and  perhaps 
actually  inducing  illness.'  H'm!  H'm!  We  didn't 
arrive  at  any  of  this  by  our  observations,  did  we,  So- 
phronia  ?" 

"Decidedly  not,"  snapped  Madame,  haughtily. 

"And  now  let's  see  how  arrived  at.  H'm!  H'm! 
Grandmother — ingress  of  Crab — conjunction  of  Scor- 
pio with  Serpens — moon  in  eleventh  house.  Yes,  that's 
so.  Jupiter  in  trine  with  Saturn — What's  this  ?  'Crab 
dressed  implies  danger — undressed  Crab  much  safer — 
attempted  intervention  failure — she's  in  a  nice  state 
now — it  tried  to  keep  her  from  it,  but  she  was  drawn 
right  to  it.'  Right  to  what  ?" 

"The  Crab?" 

"Of  course  she  was  drawn  to  it.  She  depends  on 
the  Crab  these  nights.  But  what  does  the  rest  mean  ?" 

"The  Crab  was  dressed." 

"Dressed — what  in?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  Prophet.  "It  didn't  tell 
me." 

Mr.  Sagittarius  and  Madame  exchanged  glances. 

"Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Vivian,  I  beg,"  cried  Mad- 
ame in  a  somewhat  excited  manner.  "How  could  the 
Crab  be  dressed?" 


216     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square' 

"I  have  wondered,"  said  the  Prophet,  gazing  at  the 
couple  before  him  with  shining  eyes.  "But  it  was 
dressed  last  night,  and  that  made  it  exceptionally 
dangerous  in  some  way.  Something  seemed  to  tell 
me  so.  Something  did  tell  me  so." 

"What  told  you?"  inquired  Madame,  with  more 
excitement  and  a  certain  respect  which  had  been  quite 
absent  from  her  manner  before. 

"Something  that  came  in  the  night.  I  don't  know 
what  it  was.  Light  flashed  from  it." 

"It  sounds  like  a  sort  of  comet,  my  darling,"  said 
Mr.  Sagittarius,  considerably  perturbed.  "We  didn't 
observe  that  the  Crab  was  specially  dressed,  did  we?" 

"It  had  nothing  on  at  all  when  we  saw  it,"  said 
Madame  with  growing  agitation.  "But  whatever  was 
this  comet  that  flashed  light?  That's  what  I  want  to 
get  at." 

"It  was  a  dark  thing  that  told  me  the  Crab  was 
dressed,  that  my  grandmother  had  been  with  it  and 
that  its  influence  was  inimical  to  her." 

"A  dark  thing!  That's  not  a  comet!"  said  Mr. 
Sagittarius. 

"It  vanished  with  a  flash  of  light  into  the  square." 

"At  what  time  did  you  observe  it,  sir?"  asked  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  while  Madame  leaned  forward,  gazing 
with  goggling  eyes  at  the  Prophet. 

"At  exactly  half-past  one." 

"Did  it  stay  long?" 

"A  few  minutes  only — but  it  made  an  impression 
upon  me  that  I  can  never  forget." 

It  had  apparently  also  made  a  very  great  impression 
upon  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius,  who  remained  for 
some  seconds  staring  fixedly  at  the  Prophet  without 


The  Prophet  Creates  a  Diversion      217 

uttering  a  word.  At  last  Mr.  Sagittarius  turned  to 
Madame  and  said  in  a  voice  that  shook  with  serious- 
ness,— 

"Can  it  be,  Sophronia,  that  prophets  ought  to  live  in 
the  central  districts?  Can  it  really  be  that  the  nearer 
they  are  to  the  Circus,  and  even  to  the  Stores — " 

"O  beatus  ilia!"  interjected  Madame  upon  the  pin- 
ions of  a  sigh. 

"Yes,  Sophronia,  the  Stores,  the  more  clearly  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  future  vouchsafed  to  them?  If  it 
should  prove  to  be  so!" 

Madame  stared  again  upon  the  Prophet  with  a 
fixity  and  strained  inquiry  which  made  him  shift  in 
his  seat. 

"If  it  should!"  she  repeated,  upon  the  lowest  note 
of  her  lower  register,  which  sounded,  at  that  solemn 
moment,  like  the  keynote  of  a  dreamer.  Then,  with 
a  sudden  change  of  manner,  she  cried  sharply, — 

"Jupiter,  you  must  accompany  this  gentleman  back 
to  the  square  to-day." 

The  Prophet  started.    So  did  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"But — "  they  cried  simultaneously. 

"And  you  must  share  his  night  watch." 

"But,  my  darling—" 

"Or  I  will,"  cried  Madame.    "Which  is  it  to  be?" 

"Mr.  Sagittarius!"  exclaimed  the  Prophet. 

"Very  well,"  said  Madame.  "Let  mine  be  the  weary 
task  to  wait  and  watch  at  home.  Fata  feminus.  The 
mystery  of  the  dressed  Crab  must  be  unveiled.  Should 
this  mysterious  visitant  again  vouchsafe  a  prophetic 
message,  a  practical  prophet  must  be  at  hand  to  receive 
it.  Jupiter,  this  gentleman  is  not  practical.  This 
report" — she  struck  the  paper  on  which  the  Prophet 


2 1 8     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

had  dotted  down  his  notes — "is  badly  written.  The 
cycloidal  curve  might  have  been  made  by  a  Board 
School  child.  The  deductions  drawn — deductio  ad 
absurdibus — reveal  no  talent,  none  of  the  prophetic 
feu  de  joie  at  all.  But  this  mystery  of  the  dressed  Crab 
may  mean  much.  Jupiter,  you  will  accompany  this 
gentleman  back  to  London  and  you  will  assist  him 
practically  at  the  telescope  to-night." 

"Very  well,  my  love.  I  will  risk  the  personal  dan- 
ger, for  your  and  the  children's — " 

"But— but  really — "  began  the  Prophet.  "I  am 
very  sorry,  but — " 

"Madame  has  spoken,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
very  solemnly. 

"I  know  she  has.  But — yes,  I  know  there  are  no 
buts  in  your  dictionary,  Madame,  I  know  there  aren't 
— but  I  have  an  engagement  to-night  that  I  have 
sworn — " 

"What  engagement,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
sternly.  "You  have  sworn  to  us.  You  must  know 
that." 

"I  have  sworn  to  almost  everyone,"  cried  the  dis- 
tracted Prophet.  "But  this  swear — I  mean  this  oath 
must  be  kept  before  yours." 

"Before  ours,  sir?" 

"It  comes  on  before  eleven.  I  keep  my  oath  to  you 
after  it.  I  manage  the  two,  don't  you  see  ?" 

"He  will  see  that  you  manage  the  two,  Mr.  Vivian, 
I  can  assure  you,"  said  Madame,  viciously.  "Won't 
you,  Jupiter?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  What  is  the  oath,  sir,  that 
you  place  before  ours  ?" 


The  Prophet  Creates  a  Diversion     219 

"An  oath  to  Miss  Minerva,"  returned  the  Prophet, 
beginning  to  feel  reckless,  firm  in  the  conviction  that 
it  was  henceforth  his  -destiny  to  be  the  very  sport  of 
Fate. 

"Ha!"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius.    "The  double  life!" 

"Who  is  Miss  Minerva,  pray  ?"  said  Madame,  shoot- 
ing a  very  penetrating  glance  upon  her  husband. 

"Your  husband  can  tell  you  that,"  replied  the 
Prophet,  by  no  means  without  guile. 

"Jupiter,"  cried  Madame,  "what  is  the  meaning  of 
this?  Who  is  this  person?" 

Mr.  Sagittarius  looked  exceedingly  uncomfortable. 

"My  dear,"  he  began,  "she  is  a  young  fe — that  is, 
a  young  wo — I  should  say — " 

"A  fe !    A  wo !    Explain  yourself,  Jupiter !" 

"She  is  a  lady,  my  love." 

"A  lady!    Do  I  know  her?" 

"I  believe  not,  my  dear." 

"And  do  you?" 

"No,  my  darling.    That  is— that  is — " 

"Yes,  I  suppose !"  said  Madame,  with  a  very  violent 
cliek. 

"I  can  hardly  say,  Sophronia,  that,  I  can't  indeed. 
I  have  met  her,  by  accident,  quite  by  accident  I  assure 
you,  once  or  twice." 

"Where?" 

"At  Jellybrand's.  She  goes  to  fetch  letters  on  the 
same  day  as  I  do." 

Madame's  very  intellectual  brow  was  over-clouded 
with  storm.  She  turned  upon  the  Prophet. 

"And  what  of  this  person,  Mr.  Vivian?"  she  cried. 
"What  of  her  and  this  oath  ?" 


220    The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

The  Prophet,  who  was  secretly  very  delighted  with 
the  diversion  he  had  so  cleverly  created,  hastened  to 
reply,— 

"I  have  promised  most  solemnly  to  meet  her  to-night 
at  a  house  in  the  Zoological  Gardens !" 

"A  house  in  the  Zoological  Gardens!" 

"I  mean  at  Zoological  House,  the  residence  of  Mrs. 
Vane  Bridgeman,  who  is — " 

But,  at  this  point  in  his  explanation,  the  Prophet 
was  interrupted  by  both  his  hearers. 

"The  Jellybrand  one!"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"The  prophets'  patron !"  vociferated  Madame. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   PROPHET   RETURNS   FROM    THE    MOUSE   WITH   TWO 
OLD   AND  VALUED    FRIENDS 

AT  these  exclamations  the  Prophet  started  in  some 
surprise. 

"You  know  this  lady?"  he  asked. 

"By  repute,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"Who  does  not?"  cried  Madame.  "She  built  the 
'Prophets'  Rest'  at  Birchington." 

"And  the  Mediums'  Almshouses  at  Sunnington." 

"And  the  'Palmists'  Retreat'  at  Millaby  Bay." 

"And  the—" 

"I  see  you  know  all  about  her,"  interposed  the 
Prophet.  "Well,  she  is  giving  a  reception  to-night  at 
Zoological  House  and  I  have  sworn  to  be  there.  But 
I  shall  get  home  by  eleven.  You  will  understand, 
however,  that  I  cannot  have  the  pleasure  of  entertain- 
ing Mr.  Sagittarius  during  the  evening  under  my  own 
roof.  I  regret  this  extremely,  but  you  see  it  is  un- 
avoidable." 

To  the  Prophet's  great  surprise  this  lucid  explana- 
tion was  received  by  his  hearers  with  a  strange  silence 
and  a  combined  meditative,  and  even  moony,  staring 
which  was  to  him  inexplicable.  Both  Madame  and  Mr. 
Sagittarius  seemed  suddenly  immersed  in  contempla- 
tion. They  began,  he  thought,  to  look  like  Buddhists, 
or  like  those  devoted  persons  who,  in  the  times  of  the 


222    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

desert  monks,  remained  for  long  periods  posed  upon 
pillows  in  sandy  wastes  musing  upon  Eternity.  At 
first,  as  he  met  their  fixed  eyes,  he  fancied  that  they 
were,  perhaps,  falling  into  a  trance,  but  presently  the 
conviction  seized  him  that  they  must  be,  on  the  con- 
trary, busily  thinking  out  some  problem.  He  hoped 
fervently  that  he  did  not  form  part  of  it.  At  length 
the  quivering  silence  was  broken  by  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"I  might  accompany  you  to  Mrs.  Bridgeman's,  sir," 
he  said  to  the  Prophet.  "Might  I  not,  Sophronia?" 

"Oh,  but — "  began  the  Prophet,  very  hastily. 

"The  lady  has  frequently  pressed  me  to  accept  of 
her  hospitality." 

"Indeed!" 

"For  years  she  has  been  writing  to  me  at  Jelly- 
brand's,  under  my  real  name  of  Malkiel  the  Second, 
you  understand.  She  addresses  me  simply  as  'the 
master.' " 

"But  do  the  postal  authorities — " 

"Not  upon  the  envelope,  sir,  not  upon  the  envelope." 

"I  see." 

"Hitherto,  true  to  myself,  true  to  the  principles  of 
Malkiel  the  First,  and  to  the  instincts  of  Madame, 
I  have  declined  her  personal  acquaintance.  But  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  introduce  me  to  the 
house  as  Mr.  Sagittarius,  no  reason  at  all." 

The  Prophet  knew  only  too  well  that  there  was  not, 
but  before  he  had  time  to  go  on  trying  to  wriggle  out 
of  the  complication,  Madame  struck  in. 

"Miss  Minerva  is  to  be  present  at  this  reception, 
I  believe,"  she  said  sharply. 

"Yes,  she  is,"  answered  the  Prophet,  illumined  by 
a  ray  of  hope. 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse  223 

"Jupiter,"  said  Madame,  "I  will  accompany  you  and 
Mr.  Vivian  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  to-night.  It  is 
my  sacred  duty." 

The  Prophet  groaned. 

"But,  my  darling — " 

"The  reception  over,  I  will  assist  you  and  Mr. 
Vivian  at  the  telescope  in  the  Berkeley  Square.  In 
your  presence  I  can  do  so  without  departing  from  my 
principles,  salvo  pudoribus.  Do  not  interrupt  me, 
Jupiter,  if  you  please.  I  have  thought  the  matter  out. 
The  crisis  in  our  fate  is  at  hand.  Upon  the  events 
of  the  next  three  nights  depends  our  future.  These 
mysterious  messages  of  which  Mr.  Vivian  speaks  must 
be  examined  into  by  us  upon  the  spot.  This  mystery 
of  the  dressed  Crab  must  be  made  clear.  A  woman's 
intellect  is  needed.  A  woman's  intellect  shall  not  be 
wanting.  Ill  as  I  am,  worn  down  by  the  occurrences 
of  yesterday  and  by  this  gentleman's  incessant  tele- 
grams, I  will  leave  my  books" — here  she  waved  one 
hand  towards  the  dwarf  bookcase — "I  will  assume  an 
appropriate  neglige  and  my  outdoor  boots,  a  fichu  and 
bonftet,  and  will  accompany  you  at  once  to  the  Berkeley 
Square,  there  to  confer  and  arrange  the  programme  of 
the  evening.  Mrs.  Bridgeman  would  fall  down  before 
us  in  worship  could  she  know  who  we  really  are.  As 
it  is,  Mr.  Vivian  will  introduce  us  modestly  as  two  old 
and  valued  friends.  The  time  may  be  at  hand  when 
we  need  no  longer  hide  ourselves  beneath  an  alibi.  Till 
then  we  must  possess  ourselves,  and  Mr.  Vivian  must 
possess  us,  in  patience.  Ill  as  I  am,  I  will  accompany 
you.  To-night  shall  see  me  in  the  Zoological  Gardens 
at  my  husband's  side." 

Before  the  prospect  of  this  sublime  self-sacrifice  both 


224    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Mr.  Sagittarius  and  the  Prophet  were  as  men  dumb. 
They  said  not  a  word.  They  only  gazed — with  a  sort 
of  strange  idiotcy — at  Madame  as  she  rose,  with  an 
elaborate  and  studied  feebleness,  from  the  maroon 
couch  and  prepared  to  go  upstairs  to  assume  the  ap- 
propriate neglige.  Only  when  she  was  at  her  full 
height  did  the  Prophet,  rendered  desperate  by  the  terri- 
ble results  of  his  own  ingenuity,  nerve  himself  to  utter 
one  last  protest. 

"I  really  do  not  think  it  would  be  quite  according 
to  the  rules  of  etiquette  which  prevail  in  the  central 
districts,"  he  cried,  "for  a  lady  to  spend  the  night  in 
the  butler's  pantry  of  a  comparative  stranger,  even 
when  accompanied  by  her  husband.  It  might  give  rise 
to  talk  in  the  square,  and — " 

"The  butler's  pantry,  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius. "Explain  yourself,  I  beg." 

"The  telescope  is  there,  and — " 

"I  have  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  etiquette,"  said 
Madame,  looking  considerably  like  Joan  of  Arc  and 
other  well-known  heroines.  "My  duty  lies  plain  before 
me.  Of  myself  I  should  not  have  selected  the  Zoologi- 
cal Gardens  and  the  butler's  pantry  of  a  comparative 
stranger  as  places  in  which  to  pass  the  night,  even 
when  accompanied  by  my  husband.  But  my  conscience 
— mens  conscium  recto — guides  me  and  I  will  not 
resist  it.  I  will  assume  my  neglige  and  bonnet  and  will 
be  with  you  in  a  moment." 

So  saying  she  majestically  quitted  the  apartment. 

The  Prophet  fell  down  upon  the  maroon  sofa  like 
a  man  smitten  with  paralysis.  He  felt  suddenly  old, 
and  very  weak.  He  tried  to  think,  to  consider  how 
he  could  explain  Madame  Sagittarius  to  his  grand- 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse  225 

mother — for  she  must  surely  now  become  aware  of 
the  presence  of  strangers  in  her  pretty  home — how 
he  could  arrange  matters  with  Mr.  Ferdinand,  how 
he  could  apologise  to  a  lady  whom  he  had  never  yet 
seen  for  appearing  at  her  house  with  two  uninvited 
guests,  how  he  could  get  rid  of  the  Sagittariuses  when 
the  horrible  night  watch  should  be  at  an  end  and  the 
frigid  winter  dawn  be  near.  But  his  mind  refused  to 
work.  His  brain  was  a  blank,  containing  nothing 
except,  perhaps,  a  vague  desire  for  sudden  death.  Mr. 
Sagittarius  did  not  disturb  his  contemplation  of  the 
inevitable.  Indeed,  that  gentleman  also  seemed  medita- 
tive, and  the  silence  lasted  until  the  reappearance  of 
Madame,  in  a  brown  robe — of  a  slightly  tea-gown  type 
— trimmed  with  green  chiffon  and  coffee-coloured  lace, 
a  black  bonnet  adorned  with  about  a  score  of  imitation 
plums  made  in  some  highly-glazed  material,  a  heavy 
cloak  lined  with  priceless  rabbit-skins,  and  the  outdoor 
boots. 

If  the  Prophet  had  found  the  journey  to  the  Mouse 
a  painful  experience,  what  can  be  said  of  his  feelings 
during  the  journey  from  that  noble  stream?  Long 
afterwards  he  recalled  his  state  of  mind  during  the 
tramp  across  the  Common  among  the  broken  crockery, 
the  dust-heaps,  the  decaying  vegetables  and  the  occa- 
sional lurking  rats,  the  journey  in  the  train,  the  re- 
embarkment  upon  the  purple  'bus  from  the  gentle 
eminence  sloping  towards  the  coal-yard,  the  long  pil- 
grimage towards  the  central  districts  with  his  very 
outlying  companions.  He  recalled  the  peculiar  numb- 
ness that  strove  against  the  desperation  of  his  thoughts, 
his  feeble  efforts  to  lay  plans  frustrated  by  a  perpetual 
buzzing  in  his  brain,  his  flitting  visions  of  that  gentle 


226    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

grandmother  round  whose  venerable  age  and  dignity 
he  was  about  to  group  such  peculiar  personalities,  and 
beneath  whose  roof  he  was  about  to  indulge  in  such 
unholy  prophetic  practices.  Long  afterwards — but 
even  then  he  could  not  smile  as  men  so  often  smile 
when  they  look  back  on  lost  despairs ! 

He  and  his  companions  spoke  but  little  together  as 
they  journeyed.  Occasionally  Madame  and  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius conversed  in  husky  whispers,  like  brigands  the 
Prophet  thought,  and  the  veiled  click  of  Madame's 
contralto  struck  through  the  startled  air.  But  mostly 
a  silence  prevailed — a  silence  alive  with  fate. 

At  the  corner  of  Air  Street  they  got  out  and  began 
to  walk  down  Piccadilly  towards  the  Berkeley  Square. 
It  was  now  evening.  The  lamps  were  lighted  and  the 
murmur  of  strolling  crowds  rilled  the  gloomy  air. 
Madame  stared  feverishly  about  her,  excited  by  the 
press,  the  flashing  hansoms  and  the  gaily-illuminated 
shops.  Once,  as  she  passed  Benoist's,  she  murmured 
"O  festum  dies!"  and  again,  by  the  Berkeley,  when  she 
was  momentarily  jostled  by  a  very  large  and  umbra- 
geous tramp  who  had  apparently  been  celebrating  the 
joys  of  beggary — "Acto  prof  anus  vulgam!"  But 
generally  she  was  silent,  enwrapped,  no  doubt,  in 
bookish  thought.  When,  at  length,  they  stood  before 
the  door  of  number  one  thousand  she  breathed  a  heavy 
sigh. 

"Please,"  said  the  Prophet,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"please  enter  quietly.  My  grandmother  is  very  un- 
well." 

"Ankles  seems  to  be  a  very  painful  complaint,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "But  Madame  and  self  are  not 
in  the  habit  of  creating  uproar  by  our  movements." 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse   227 

"No,  no.  Of  course  not.  Still — on  tiptoe  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"I  cannot  walk  on  tiptoe,"  said  Madame,  in  a  voice 
that  sounded  to  the  Prophet  terrifically  powerful. 
"The  attitude  is  precarious  and  undignified.  As  the 
great  Juvenile — " 

"Yes,  yes.    Ah !  that's  it !" 

He  managed  to  get  his  key  into  the  door  and  very 
gingerly  opened  it.  Madame  and  Mr.  Sagittarius 
stepped  into  the  hall,  followed  closely  by  the  Prophet, 
who  was  content  on  conveying  them  unobserved  to  the 
library. 

"This  way,"  he  whispered.  "This  way.  Softly! 
Softly!" 

He  began  to  steal,  like  a  shadow,  across  the  hall, 
and,  impressed  by  his  surreptitious  manner,  his  old 
and  valued  friends  instinctively  followed  his  example. 
All  three  of  them,  then,  with  long  steps  and  theatrical 
pauses,  were  stagily  upon  the  move,  when  suddenly 
the  door  that  led  to  the  servants'  quarters  swung  open 
and  Mrs.  Fancy  Quinglet  debouched  into  their  midst, 
succeeded  by  Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  carried  in  his  hands 
a  menu  card  in  a  silver  holder.  At  the  moment  of 
their  appearance  the  Prophet,  holding  his  finger  to 
his  lips,  was  taking  a  soft  and  secret  stride  in  the 
direction  of  the  library  door,  his  body  bent  forward  and 
his  head  protruded  towards  the  sanctum  he  longed  to 
gain,  and  Madame  and  Mr.  Sagittarius,  true  to  the 
instinct  of  imitation  that  dwells  in  our  monkey  race, 
were  in  precisely  similar  attitudes  behind  him.  The 
hall  being  rather  dark,  and  the  gait  of  the  trio  it  con- 
tained thus  tragically  surreptitious,  it  was  perhaps  not 
unnatural  that  Mrs.  Fancy  should  give  vent  to  a  pierc- 


228    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

ing  cry  of  terror,  and  that  Mr.  Ferdinand  should  drop 
the  menu  and  crouch  back  against  the  wall  in  a 
hunched  position  expressive  of  alarm.  At  any  rate, 
such  were  their  actions,  while — for  their  part — the 
Prophet  and  his  two  old  and  valued  friends  uttered 
a  united  exclamation  and  struck  three  attitudes  that 
were  pregnant  with  defensive  amazement. 

Having  uttered  herself,  Mrs.  Fancy,  according  to 
her  invariable  custom  when  completely  terrified,  dis- 
played all  the  semblance  of  clear-sighted  composure 
and  explanatory  discrimination.  While  Mr.  Ferdinand 
remained  by  the  wall,  with  his  face  to  it  and  his  large 
white  hands  spread  out  upon  his  shut  eyes,  the  lady's- 
maid  advanced  upon  Madame,  and,  addressing  herself 
apparently  to  some  hidden  universe  in  need  of  informa- 
tion, remarked  in  rather  a  piercing  voice, — 

"I  say  again,  as  I  said  afore,  the  house  has  been 
broke  into  and  the  robbers  are  upon  us.  I  can't  speak 
different  nor  mean  other." 

On  hearing  these  words  Madame's  large  and  rip- 
pling countenance  became  suffused  with  indignant 
scarlet,  and  a  preliminary  click  rang  through  the  hall. 
The  Prophet  bounded  forward. 

"Hush,  Fancy,"  he  cried.    "What  are  you  saying?" 

"What  I  mean,  Master  Hennessey.  The  house  has 
been  broke — " 

"Hush!     Hush!     This  lady  and  gentleman  are — " 

"Two  old  and  valued  friends — "  boomed  Madame. 

"Two  old  and  valued  friends  of  mine.  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand! Mr.  Ferdinand,  take  your  face  from  the  wall, 
if  you  please.  There  is  no  cause  for  alarm.  Now, 
Fancy — now !" 

For  Mrs.  Fancy  had,  as  usual,  broken  into  tears  on 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse  229 

learning  the  reassuring  truth,  and  was  now  displaying 
every  symptom  of  distress  and  enervation.  The 
Prophet,  unable  to  calm  her,  was  obliged  to  assist  her 
upstairs  and  place  her  upon  the  landing,  where  he 
hurriedly  left  her  uttering  broken  moans  and  murmurs, 
and  repeating  again  and  again  her  statement  of  affairs 
and  assertion  of  inability  to  conceal  the  revealed  ob- 
vious. On  his  return  he  found  Madame,  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius and  Mr.  Ferdinand  grouped  statuesquely  in  the 
hall  as  if  to  represent  "Perturbation." 

"Mr.  Ferdinand,"  he  said  rather  severely,  "I  did 
not  expect  this  conduct  of  you,  shrinking  from  guests 
in  this  extraordinary  manner.  A  butler  who  shows 
terror  at  the  sight  of  visitors  does  not  conduce  to  the 
popularity  of  his  employers." 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir.    I  was  not  prepared." 

"Please  be  prepared  another  time.  You  will  serve 
dinner  for  three  to-night,  very  quietly,  in  the  inner 
dining-room.  I  do  not  wish  Mrs.  Merillia  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  her  illness,  and — " 

"If  you  please,  sir,  Mrs.  Merillia  feels  herself  so 
much  better  that  she  is  coming  down  to  dinner  to- 
night." 

"Coming  down  to  dinner !"  said  the  Prophet,  aghast. 

"Yes,  sir.  And  she  has  asked  in  Sir  Tiglath  Butt 
and  the  Lady  Julia  Postlethwaite  to  join  her.  I  was 
about  to  show  Mrs.  Merillia  the  menu,  sir,  when — " 

"Good  Heavens !  Merciful  Powers !"  ejaculated  the 
Prophet. 

"Sir?" 

"What  on  earth  is  to  be  done  ?"  continued  the 
Prophet,  lost  for  the  moment  to  all  sense  of  propriety. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  looked  at  the  old  and  valued  friends. 


230    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  can't  say,  sir,  I'm  sure,"  he  replied,  pursing  up 
his  lips. 

"What  is  the  meaning — "  began  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"I'm  not  aware  that — "  started  Madame. 

The  Prophet  darted  to  the  library  door  and  opened  it. 

"Pray,  pray  come  in  here,"  he  hissed.  "My  grand- 
mother! Softly!" 

"But  the  old  la—" 

"Hush,  please !" 

"I  must  remark,  Mr.  Viv — " 

"Tsh!  Tsh!  Mr.  Ferdinand,  wait  in  the  hall.  I 
shall  want  to  speak  to  you  in  a  moment." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  Prophet  closed  the  door  and  turned  to  his  indig- 
nant visitors. 

"This  is  terrible,"  he  said.    "Terrible !" 

"Pray  why  ?"  cried  Madame. 

"Why,"  cried  the  Prophet,  "why?" 

He  sought  frantically  for  some  excuse.  Suddenly 
a  bright  idea  occurred  to  him. 

"Why,"  he  said,  impressively.  "Because  Sir  Tiglath 
Butt,  the  gentleman  who  is  coming  to  dinner,  is  the 
person  who  for  five-and-forty  years  has  been  seeking 
Mr.  Sagittarius  with  the  firm  intention  of  assaulting, 
perhaps  of  killing,  him." 

Mr.  Sagittarius  turned  deathly  pale,  and  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  get  out  of  the  nearest  window. 

"This  is  a  trap!"  he  stammered.  "This  is  a  rat- 
trap.  This  was  planned." 

"Really"— began  the  Prophet. 

But  Mr.  Sagittarius  did  not  heed  the  exclamation. 
Trembling  very  violently,  he  continued, — 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse   231 

"Sophy,  my  darling,  you  are  in  danger.  Let  us 
fly!" 

And,  clutching  his  wife  by  the  arm,  to  the  Prophet's 
unspeakable  delight  he  endeavoured  to  lead,  or  rather 
to  drag  her  to  the  door.  But  Madame  now  showed 
the  metal  she  was  made  of. 

"Jupiter,"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  deepest  note,  "if 
you  are  a  Prophet  you  can  surely  at  moments  be  also 
a  man.  Where  is  your  toga  virilibus?" 

"I  don't  know,  my  love,  I'm  sure.  Don't  let  us  lose 
a  moment.  Come,  my  angel !" 

"I  shall  not  come,"  retorted  Madame,  whose  leaping 
ambition  had  been  fired  by  the  sound  of  titled  names. 
"The  gentleman  believes  you  to  be  an  American 
syndicate." 

"I  know,  my  blessing,  I  know.    But — " 

"Very  well.  If  you  don't  behave  like  one  he  will 
never  suspect  you." 

The  Prophet  saw  his  chance  slipping  from  him  and 
hastened  to  interpose. 

"He  might  divine  the  truth,"  he  said.  "One  can 
never — " 

But  at  this  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  Mr. 
Ferdinand  who  abruptly  opened  the  door  and  ob- 
served,— 

"If  you  please,  sir,  Mrs.  Merillia  has  sent  down 
orders  that  the  police  are  to  be  fetched  at  once." 

Mr.  Sagittarius,  now  thoroughly  unnerved,  turned 
from  white  to  grey. 

"The  police!"  he  vociferated.  "Sophy,  my  angel, 
let  us  fly.  This  is  no  place  for  you !" 

"The  police!"  cried  the  Prophet.     "Why?" 


232    The   Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  believe  it's  Mrs.  Fancy's  doing,  sir.  If  you  would 
go  to  Mrs.  Merillia,  sir,  I  think — " 

The  Prophet  rushed  from  the  room  and  hastened 
upstairs  four  steps  at  a  time.  He  found  his  beloved 
grandmother  in  a  state  of  grave  agitation,  and  Mrs. 
Fancy,  in  floods  of  tears,  reiterating  her  statement  that 
there  were  robbers  in  the  house. 

"Oh,  Hennessey!"  cried  Mrs.  Merillia,  on  his  en- 
trance, "thank  God  that  you  are  come.  There  are 
burglars  in  the  house.  Fancy  has  just  encountered 
them  in  the  hall.  Go  for  the  police,  my  dearest  boy. 
Don't  lose  a  moment." 

"My  dear  grannie,  they're  not  burglars." 

"I  can't  speak  different,  Master  Hennessey,  nor — " 

"Then  who  are  they,  Hennessey  ?  Fancy  declares — " 

"They  are  two — two — well,  two  old  and  valued 
friends  of  mine." 

"Old  and  valued  friends  of  ours !" 

"Of  mine,  grannie/  Fancy,  pray  don't  make  such 
a  noise !" 

"Fancy,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  "you  can  go  to  your 
room  and  lie  down." 

"Yes,  ma'am.  I  say  again,  as  I  said  afore,  the  house 
has  been  broke  into  and  the  robbers — " 

At  this  point  the  Prophet  shut  the  door  on  the  faith- 
ful and  persistent  creature,  who  forthwith  carried  her 
determination  and  sobs  to  an  upper  storey. 

"Hennessey,  what  is  all  this?    Who  is  really  here?" 

"Grannie,  dear,  only  two  friends  of  mine,"  replied 
the  Prophet,  trying  to  look  at  ease,  and  feeling  like 
a  criminal. 

"Friends  of  yours?  But  surely  then  I  know  them. 
I  thought  I  knew  all  your  friends." 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse   233 

"So  you  do,  grannie,  all  except — except  just  these." 

"And  they  are  old  and  valued,  you  say  ?" 

"No,  no — that  is,  I  mean  yes." 

Mrs.  Merillia  was  too  dignified  to  ask  any  further 
questions.  She  lay  back  on  her  sofa,  and  looked  at 
her  grandson  with  a  shining  of  mild  reproach  in  her 
green  eyes. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "go  back  to  your  friends, 
but  don't  forget  that  Lady  Julia  and  Sir  Tiglath  are 
dining  here  at  half-past  seven." 

"Grannie,"  cried  the  Prophet,  with  a  desperate  feel- 
ing that  Madame  meant  to  stay,  "you  ought  not  to 
dine  downstairs  to-night.  Let  me  send  and  put  them 
off." 

"No,  Hennessey,"  she  answered,  with  gentle  deci- 
sion. "I  feel  better,  and  I  want  cheering  up.  My 
morning  was  not  altogether  pleasant." 

The  Prophet  understood  that  she  was  alluding  to 
his  questions,  and  felt  cut  to  the  heart.  His  home 
seemed  crumbling  about  him,  but  he  knew  not  what 
to  do  or  what  to  say.  Mrs.  Merillia  observed  his 
agitation,  but  she  did  not  choose  to  remark  upon  it,  for 
she  considered  curiosity  the  most  vulgar  of  all  the 
vices. 

"Go  to  your  friends,  dear,"  she  said  again.  "But 
be  in  time  for  dinner." 

"Yes,  grannie." 

The  Prophet  descended  the  stairs  and  met  Mr. 
Ferdinand  at  the  bottom. 

"Am  I  to  send  for  the  police,  sir?" 

"No,  no.    I've  explained  matters." 

"And  about  dinner,  sir?" 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  moment,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  replied 


234    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

the  Prophet,  entering  the  library  with  the  fixed  inten- 
tion of  getting  Madame  and  Mr.  Sagittarius  out  of 
the  house  without  further  delay. 

The  tableau  that  met  his  eyes,  however,  was  not 
reassuring.  He  found  Madame,  having  laid  aside  her 
bonnet,  and  thrown  the  rabbit-skin  cloak  carelessly 
upon  a  settee,  arranging  her  hair  before  a  mirror,  and 
shaking  up  the  coffee-coloured  lace  fichu  in  a  manner 
that  suggested  a  permanent  occupation  of  the  house, 
while  her  husband,  sunk  in  a  deep  armchair  and  an 
attitude  of  complete  nervous  prostration,  was  gazing 
dejectedly  into  the  fire.  When  the  Prophet  entered, 
the  latter  bounded  with  alarm,  while  Madame  turned 
round,  a  couple  of  hairpins  in  her  mouth  and  both 
hands  to  the  back  of  her  head. 

"Ah,"  she  remarked,  through  the  pins,  "il  a  vous! 
I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  have  induced  Mr.  Sagittarius 
to  assume  his  toga  virilibus,  and  that  we  have,  there- 
fore, great  pleasure  in  yielding  to  your  thoughtful 
pressure — " 

"My  what?"  said  the  Prophet,  blankly. 

"Your  thoughtful  pressure,  and  accepting  your 
urgent  invite  to  dine  here  before  proceeding  to  the 
Zoological  Gardens  and  thence  to  the  butler's  pantry." 

The  Prophet  tried  not  to  groan  while  she  emitted 
a  pin  and  secured  with  it  a  wandering  plait  of  raven 
hair. 

"You're  sure,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  in  a  deplor- 
able voice,  "that  the  gentleman  is  convinced  that  I  am 
really  an  American  syndicate?" 

The  Prophet  rang  the  bell.  He  could  not  trust 
himself  to  speak,  and,  when  he  looked  at  Madame's 


The  Prophet  Returns  from  the  Mouse  235 

large  and  determined  eyes,  he  knew  that  to  do  so  would 
be  useless. 

Mr.  Ferdinand  appeared. 

"Mr.  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Prophet,  "this  lady  and 
gentleman  will  join  us  at  dinner  to-night." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ferdinand,  casting  a  glance  of 
outraged  prudery  upon  Mr.  Sagittarius,  who  was 
attired  in  his  usual  morning  costume,  including  spats. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Ferdinand?"  asked  the 
Prophet,  following  that  functionary's  eyes.  "Ha! 
He's  not  dressed !" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Mr.  Sagittarius,"  cried  the  Prophet,  "you're  not 
dressed !" 

"Sir,"  cried  that  gentleman,  "do  you  dare  to  accuse 
me  of  impropriety  in  a  frock  coat  ?" 

"No,  no.  But  for  dinner.  You  can't  possibly  dine 
like  that!" 

"I  have  dined  like  this,  sir,  for  the  last  twenty  years. 
The  architects  and  their  wives — " 

"I  daresay.  But  unluckily  there  will  be  no  archi- 
tects •  and  their  wives  at  dinner  to-night.  Please 
stand  up." 

"Sir?" 

"Kindly  stand  up.    Mr.  Ferdinand !" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Place  your  back  against  this  gentleman's  if  you 
please — touching,  touching!  Don't  wriggle  away  like 
that.  Keep  your  heels  to  the  ground  while  I  fetch 
a  sheet  of  notepaper.  Don't  move  your  heads  either 
of  you.  I  thought  so.  You're  pretty  much  the  same 
height.  Mr.  Ferdinand,  you  will  lay  out  a  white  shirt 


236    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

and  one  of  your  black  dress  suits  in  my  dressing-room 
at  once.  Madame,  I  regret  that  we  must  leave  you  for 
a  few  moments.  Will  you  rest  here?  Allow  me  to 
place  a  cushion  for  your  head.  And  here  is  Juvenal 
in  the  original." 

So  saying,  the  Prophet  hurried  Mr.  Sagittarius  from 
the  room,  driving  Mr.  Ferdinand,  in  a  condition  of 
elephantine  horror,  before  him,  and  abandoning 
Madame  to  an  acquaintance  with  the  classics  that  she 
had  certainly  never  achieved  in  the  society  of  the  re- 
nowned Dr.  Carter. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

MALKIEL  THE  SECOND  IS  MISTAKEN  FOR  A  RATCATCHER 

IF  you  tremble  like  that,  of  course  it  must  look  too 
big!"  exclaimed  the  Prophet  to  Mr.  Sagittarius,  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  later.  "Draw  it  in  at  the  back." 

Mr.  Sagittarius,  with  shaking  hands,  drew  in  the 
waistcoat  of  Mr.  Ferdinand,  which  hung  in  folds 
around  his  thin  and  agitated  figure. 

"That's  better,"  said  the  Prophet.  'They  won't 
notice  anything  odd.  But  you've  turned  up  your — 
Mr.  Ferdinand's  trousers !" 

"They're  too  long,  sir.  You  braced  them  too  low 
for—" 

"I  braced  them  low  on  purpose,"  cried  the  Prophet 
in  great  excitement,  "to  cover  the  spats,  since  you 
can't -get  on  Mr.  Ferdinand's  boots.  Kindly  turn  them 
down." 

"As  to  the  spats,  sir,  the  architects  and  their 
wives — " 

"Mr.  Sagittarius,"  exclaimed  the  Prophet,  "I  think 
it  right  to  inform  you  that  if  you  mention  the  archi- 
tects and  their  wives  again,  I  may  very  probably  go 
mad.  I  don't  say  I  shall,  but  I  will  not  answer  for 
myself.  Have  the  goodness  to  turn  them  down  and 
follow  me." 

Mr.  Sagittarius  obeyed,  and  followed  the  Prophet 
from  the  room  with  a  waddling  gait  and  a  terrible 


238     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

sensation  of  having  nothing  on.  The  coat  and  trousers 
which  he  wore  flapped  about  him  as  he  descended  the 
stairs  in  the  wake  of  the  Prophet,  glancing  nervously 
about  him  and  starting  at  the  slightest  sound.  In  the 
library  they  found  Madame,  holding  the  great  Juvenile 
upside  down  and  looking  exceedingly  cross. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  come  upstairs?"  said 
the  Prophet  to  her  very  politely,  though  his  fingers 
twitched  to  strangle  her.  "I  wish  to  present  you  to 
my  grandmother,  and  dinner  is  just  ready." 

Madame  rose  with  dignity. 

"I  am  ready  too,"  she  said,  with  a  click.  "Semper 
paratis." 

And,  shaking  up  the  fichu,  she  ascended  the  stairs. 
Outside  the  drawing-room  door  the  Prophet,  who 
seemed  strangely  calm,  but  who  was  in  reality  almost 
bursting  with  nervous  excitement,  paused  and  faced 
his  old  and  valued  friends. 

i  "You  will  forgive  my  saying  so,  I  hope,"  he  whis- 
pered, "but  my  grandmother  is  not  well  and  much 
conversation  tires  her.  So  we  don't  talk  too  much  in 
her  presence.  Only  just  now  and  then,  you  under- 
stand." 

And  with  this  last  injunction — futile,  he  knew  as  he 
gave  it — he  commended  himself  to  whatever  powers 
there  be  and  opened  the  door. 

Sir  Tiglath  had  not  yet  arrived,  but  Lady  Julia 
Postlethwaite  was  seated  on  a  sofa  by  Mrs,  Merillia, 
and  was  conversing  with  her  about  the  Court,  the 
dreadful  amount  of  money  a  certain  duke — her  third 
cousin — had  recently  had  to  pay  in  Death  Duties,  the 
corrupt  condition  of  society,  and  the  absurb  pretensions 
of  the  lower  middle  classes.  Lady  Julia  was  sensitive 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher     239 

and  very  grande  dame.  She  wore  her  hair  powdered, 
and  had  a  slight  cough  and  exquisite  manners.  Once 
a  lady  in  waiting,  she  was  now  a  widow,  possessed 
a  set  of  apartments  in  Hampton  Court  Palace,  wor- 
shipped Queen  Alexandra,  and  had  scarcely  ever 
spoken  to  anybody  who  moved  outside  of  Court 
Circles.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  said  to  have 
embraced  her  when  a  child. 

Mrs.  Merillia  and  this  lady  looked  up  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Lady  Julia  paused  midway  in  a  sentence, 
of  which  these  were  the  opening  words, — 

"The  old  duke  wouldn't  make  it  over,  and  so  poor 
Loftus  has  to  pay  nearly  a  million  to  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Excheq — " 

"How  d'you  do,  Lady  Julia?  Grannie,  I  have  per- 
suaded my  friends,  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius,  to 
join  us  at  dinner.  Sir  Tiglath  Butt  is  most  anxious 
to  meet  Mr.  Sagittarius,  who  is  a  great  astronomer. 
Let  me — Madame  Sagittarius,  Mrs.  Merillia — Mr. 
Sagittarius — Mrs.  Merillia,  my  grandmother — Lady 
Julia  Postlethwaite." 

Mrs.  Merillia,  although  taken  completely  by  sur- 
prise, and  fully  conscious  that  her  grandson  had  com- 
mitted an  outrage  in  turning  the  arranged  and  intimate 
quartette  without  permission  into  a  disorganised  sex- 
tette, bowed  with  self-possessed  graciousness,  and 
indicated  a  chair  to  Madame,  who  seated  herself  in  it 
with  that  sort  of  defensive  and  ostentatious  majesty 
which  is  often  supposed  by  ill-bred  people  to  be  a  per- 
fect society  manner.  Mr.  Sagittarius  remained  stand- 
ing in  his  enormous  suit,  turning  out  his  feet,  over 
which  Mr.  Ferdinand's  trousers  rippled  in  broadcloth 
waves,  in  the  first  position.  A  slight  pause  ensued, 


240     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

during  which  the  Prophet  was  uncomfortably  affected 
by  the  behaviour  of  Madame,  who  gazed  at  the  very 
neat  and  superior  wig  worn  by  Mrs.  Merillia,  and  at 
that  lady's  charming  silver  grey  damask  gown,  in 
a  manner  that  suggested  amazement  tempered  with 
indignation,  her  instant  expression  of  these  two  senti- 
ments being  only  held  in  check  by  a  certain  reverence 
which  was  doubtless  inspired  by  the  pretty  room,  the 
thick  carpet,  the  ancestral  pictures  upon  the  walls,  and 
the  lofty  bearing  of  the  Lady  Julia  Postlethwaite,  who 
could  scarcely  conceal  her  very  natural  surprise  at  the 
extraordinary  appearance  of  Mr.  Sagittarius.  As  to 
Mrs.  Merillia,  although  she  was,  in  reality,  near  faint- 
ing with  wonder  at  her  grandson's  escapade,  she  pre- 
served an  expression  of  gracious  benignity,  and  did  not 
allow  a  motion  of  her  eyelids  or  a  flutter  of  her  fan  to 
betray  her  emotion  at  finding  herself  the  unprepared 
hostess  of  such  unusual  guests.  The  Prophet  broke 
the  silence  by  saying,  in  a  voice  that  cracked  with 
agitation, — 

"I  trust — I  sincerely  trust  that  we  shall  have  a 
clement  spring  this  year." 

Lady  Julia,  at  whom  he  had  looked  while  uttering 
this  original  desire,  was  about  to  reply  when  Madame 
uttered  a  stentorian  click  and  interposed. 

"In  the  spring  the  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns 
to  thoughts  of  love,"  she  remarked,  with  the  fictitious 
ease  of  profound  ill-breeding. 

No  one  dared  to  dispute  the  portentous  statement, 
and  she  resumed  majestically, — 

"The  Mouse  is  delicious  in  spring." 

There  was  another  dead  silence,  and  Madame,  turn- 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher     241 

ing  with  patronising  and  heavy  affability  towards  Lady 
Julia,  added, — 

"Your  ladyship  doubtless  loves  the  Mouse — Mus 
Pulcherrimo — in  spring  as  I  do?" 

The  Prophet  felt  as  if  he  were  being  pricked  by 
thousands  of  red-hot  needles,  and  the  perspiration 
burst  out  in  beads  upon  his  forehead. 

"I  am  not  specially  fond  of  mice  in  spring,  or  indeed 
at  any  season,"  replied  Lady  Julia,  with  her  slight,  but 
very  distinct  and  bell-like,  cough. 

"I  said  the  Mouse,  your  ladyship,"  returned  Mad- 
ame, feeding  upon  this  titled  acquaintance  with  her 
bulging  black  eyes,  and  pushing  the  kid  boots  well 
out  from  under  her  brown  skirt.  "I  observed  that  the 
Mouse  was  peculiarly  delicious  in  the  season  of  love." 

"No  mouse  attracts  me,"  said  Lady  Julia,  coughing 
again  and  raising  her  fine  eyebrows  slightly.  "I 
should  much  prefer  to  pass  the  spring  without  the 
companionship  of  any  mouse  whatever." 

Both  Madame  and  Mr.  Sagittarius  opened  their  lips 
to  reply,  but  before  they  could  eject  a  single  word  the 
door  Was  opened  by  Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  announced, — 

"Sir  Tiglath  Butt." 

Mr.  Sagittarius  started  violently  and  upset  a  vase 
of  roses,  the  astronomer  rolled  into  the  room  with 
a  very  red  face,  and  Mr.  Ferdinand  added, — 

"Dinner  is  served." 

Mrs.  Merillia  shook  hands  with  Sir  Tiglath  and 
glanced  despairingly  around  her.  It  was  sufficiently 
obvious  that  she  was  considering  how  to  arrange  the 
procession  to  the  dining-room. 

"Hennessey,"  she  began,  "will  you  take  Lady  Julia  ? 


242     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Sir  Tiglath,  will  you" — she  paused,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  she  was  obliged  to  continue — "take  Mrs. 
Sagittarius?  Let  me  introduce  you,  Sir  Tiglath  Butt 
— Mrs.  Sagittarius.  Mr.  Sagittarius,  will  you  take — " 

"Mr.  Sagittarius!"  roared  Sir  Tiglath.  "Where 
is  he?" 

That  gentleman  gathered  Mr.  Ferdinand's  trousers 
up  in  both  hands  and  prepared  for  instantaneous 
flight. 

"Where  is  he?"  bellowed  Sir  Tiglath,  wheeling 
round  with  amazing  rapidity  for  so  fat  a  man.  "Ha !" 

He  had  viewed  Mr.  Sagittarius,  who,  grasping  Mr. 
Ferdinand's  suit  in  pleats,  ducked  his  head  like  one 
wishing  to  be  beforehand  with  violence  and  set  the 
spats  towards  the  door.  Sir  Tiglath  advanced  upon 
him. 

"The  old  astronomer  has  heard  the  name  of  Sagitta- 
rius," he  vociferated.  "He  has  been  informed  that — " 

"It's  not  true,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius,  pale  with 
terror.  "It  is  not  true.  I  deny  it.  I  am  an  Ameri — 
I  mean  I  am  not  the  American  syndicate — you  are  in 
error,  in  absolute  error.  I  swear  it.  I  take  the  heavens 
to  witness." 

At  this  remarkable  and  comprehensive  statement 
Mrs.  Merillia  and  Lady  Julia  looked  at  each  other  in 
elegant  amazement. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  exclaimed  Sir  Tiglath. 
"And  why  do  you  insult  the  sacred  heavens,  you  an 
astronomer !" 

"I  am  not  an  astronomer,"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
cringing  in  the  voluminous  waistcoat  of  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand. "I  am  an  outside  broker.  I  swear  it.  My 
dress,  my  manner  proclaim  the  fact.  Sophronia,  tell 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher     243 

the  gentleman  that  I  am  an  outside  broker  and  that  all 
Margate  has  recognised  me  as  such." 

"My  husband  states  the  fact,"  said  Madame,  in  re- 
sponse to  this  impassioned  appeal.  "My  husband 
brokes  outside,  and  has  done  for  the  last  twenty  years. 
Collect  yourself,  Jupiter.  Pray  do  not  doff  your  toga 
virilibus  in  the  presence  of  ladies !" 

The  terror  of  Mr.  Sagittarius  was  such,  however, 
that  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  he  would  not  have 
proceeded  thus  to  disrobe  had  not  the  Prophet,  ren- 
dered desperate  by  the  turn  of  events,  abruptly  leaped 
between  Sir  Tiglath  and  his  old  and  valued  friend  and, 
gathering  the  outraged  Lady  Julia  under  his  arm, 
exclaimed, — 

"Pray,  pray — we  can  discuss  this  matter  more  com- 
fortably at  dinner.  Permit  me,  Lady  Julia.  Sir 
Tiglath,  if  you  will  kindly  give  your  arm  to  Madame 
Sagittarius.  Mr.  Sagittarius,  my  grandmother." 

So  saying,  he  made  a  sort  of  flank  movement,  so 
adroitly  conceived  and  carried  out  that,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  he  had  driven  Sir  Tiglath  to  the  side  of 
Madame  and  hustled  Mr.  Sagittarius  into  the  immedi- 
ate neighbourhood  of  Mrs.  Merillia.  Nor  had  more 
than  two  minutes  elapsed  before  the  whole  party  found 
themselves — they  scarce  knew  how — arranged  around 
the  dining  table  and  being  served  with  clear  soup  by 
Air.  Ferdinand  and  the  astounded  Gustavus,  whose 
naturally  round  eyes  began  to  take  an  almost  oblong 
form  as  he  attended  to  the  wants  of  Mrs.  Merillia's 
very  unfamiliar  guests,  whose  outlying  demeanour 
and  architectural  manners  evidently  filled  him  with  the 
most  poignant  dismay. 

As  to  Mrs.  Merillia  and  Lady  Julia,  the  foregoing 


244    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

scene  had  so  reduced  them  that  they  were  almost 
betrayed  into  some  hysterical  departure  from  the  rules 
of  exquisite  good  breeding  which  they  had  uncon- 
sciously observed  from  the  cradle.  Indeed,  the  latter, 
strong  in  the  belief  that  the  terms  outside  broker  and 
raving  maniac  were  interchangeable,  twice  dropped 
her  spoon  into  her  soup-plate  before  she  could  succeed 
in  lifting  it  to  her  mouth,  and  was  unable  to  prevent 
herself  from  whispering  to  the  Prophet, — 

"Pray,  Mr.  Vivian,  tell  me  the  worst — is  he  abso- 
lutely dangerous?" 

"No,  no,"  whispered  back  the  Prophet,  reassuringly. 
"It's  all  his  play." 

"Play!"  murmured  Lady  Julia,  glancing  at  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  who  was  holding  back  the  right  sleeve  of 
Mr.  Ferdinand's  coat  with  his  left  hand  in  order  to 
have  the  free  use  of  his  dinner  limb. 

"Yes,"  whispered  the  Prophet.  "He's  the  most 
harmless,  innocent  creature.  A  child  might  stroke 
him.  I  mean  he  wouldn't  hurt  a  child." 

"Yes,  but  we  are  not  children,"  said  Lady  Julia,  still 
in  great  apprehension. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Tiglath,  concerned  with  his  dinner, 
took  no  heed  of  Mr.  Sagittarius  for  the  moment,  and 
that  gentleman,  slightly  reassured,  endeavoured  to 
make  himself  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"You  are  very  pleasantly  situated  here,  ma'am,"  he 
began. 

Mrs.  Merillia  thought  he  meant  because  she  was  at 
his  elbow,  and  answered  politely, — 

"Yes,  very  pleasantly  situated." 

"It  is  indeed  a  blessing  to  be  within  such  easy  reach 
of  the  Stores,"  added  Mr.  Sagittarius,  finishing  his 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher      245 

soup,  and  permitting  Mr.  Ferdinand's  sleeves  to  flow 
down  once  more  over  his  hands. 

"The  Stores!"  said  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"O  festum  dies  beatus  ilia!"  ejaculated  Madame, 
assuming  an  expression  of  profound  and  almost  pas- 
sionate sentiment.  "Happy  indeed  the  good  lady  who 
dwells  in  the  central  districts !" 

She  permitted  a  gigantic  sigh  to  leave  her  bosom 
and  to  wander  freely  among  the  locks  of  those  at  the 
table.  Sir  Tiglath,  who,  on  being  assaulted  by  her 
learning,  had  shown  momentary  symptoms  of  apo- 
plexy, now  gave  a  loud  grunt,  while  the  Prophet, 
perceiving  that  his  grandmother  and  Lady  Julia  were 
quite  unequal  to  the  occasion,  hastily  replied, — 

"Yes,  Berkeley  Square  is  very  convenient  in  many 
ways." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  keeping  a  wary  eye  on 
Sir  Tiglath  and  re-addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Meril- 
lia, "the  Berkeley  Square.  But  if  you  lived  in  the  one 
behind  Kimmins's  Mews,  it  would  be  quite  another 
pair  of  boots,  would  it  not,  ma'am  ?" 

Lady  Julia,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
shifted  her  chair  nearer  to  the  Prophet,  and  whis- 
pered, "I'm  sure  he  is  dangerous,  Mr.  Vivian!"  while 
Mrs.  Merillia,  in  the  greatest  perplexity,  replied, — 

"The  one  behind  Mr.  Kimmins's  Mews?" 

"Ay,  over  against  Brigwell's  Buildings,  just  beyond 
the  Pauper  Lunatic  Asylum." 

Lady  Julia  turned  pale. 

"I  daresay,"  answered  Mrs.  Merillia,  bravely.  "But 
I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  neighbourhood  you  men- 
don." 

."You  know  the  Mouse?" 


246     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

At  this  abrupt  return  to  the  subject  of  mice  Lady 
Julia  became  really  terrified. 

"Be  frank  with  me,  Mr.  Vivian,"  she  whispered  to 
the  Prophet,  under  cover  of  boiled  salmon;  "is  he 
a  ratcatcher?" 

"Good  Heavens,  no!"  whispered  back  the  Prophet. 
"He's — he's  quite  the  contrary." 

"But—" 

"What  mouse?"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  endeavouring 
to  seem  pleasantly  at  ease,  though  she,  too,  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  a  certain  amount  of  alarm  at  these  strange 
beings'  persistent  discussion  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
wainscot.  "Do  you  allude  to  any  special  mouse?" 

"I  do,  ma'am.  I  allude  to  the  Mouse  that  has  helped 
to  make  Madame  and  self  what  we  are." 

Sir  Tiglath  began  to  roll  about  in  his  chair  pre- 
paratory to  some  deliverance,  and  Mrs.  Merillia, 
casting  a  somewhat  agitated  glance  at  her  grandson, 
answered, — 

"Really.  I  did  not  know  that  anything  so  small 
could  have  so  much  influence." 

"It  may  be  small,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius. 
"But  to  a  sensitive  nature  it  often  seems  gigantic." 

"You  mean  at  night,  I  suppose?  Does  it  disturb 
you  very  much?" 

"We  hear  it,  ma'am,  but  it  lulls  us  to  rest." 

"Indeed.  That  is  very  fortunate.  I  fear  it  might 
keep  me  awake." 

"So  we  thought  at  first.  But  now  we  should  miss 
it.  Should  we  not,  Sophronia?" 

"Doubtless,"  replied  Madame,  arranging  a  napkin 
carefully  over  her  fichu,  and  dealing  rigorously  with 
some  mayonnaise  sauce.  "It  has  been  our  perpetual 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher      247 

companion  for  many  years,  mus  amicus  hutnano 
generi." 

Sir  Tiglath  swelled,  and  Mrs.  Merillia  responded, — 

"I  see,  a  pet.    Is  it  white  ?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  returned  Mr.  Sagittarius,  "it  is  a 
rich,  chocolate  brown  except  on  wet  days.  Then  it 
takes  on  the  hue  of  a  lead  pencil." 

"Indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  trying  nobly  to  remain 
social.  "How  very  curious  !" 

"We  worship  it  in  summer,"  continued  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius. "In  the  sultry  season  it  soothes  and  calms  us." 

"Then  it  is  quite  tame?" 

"At  that  time  of  year,  but  in  winter  nights  it  is 
sometimes  almost  wild." 

"Ah,  I  daresay.    They  often  are,  I  know." 

"The  architects  and  their  wives  love  it  as  we  do." 

"Do  they?     How  very  unfortunate!" 

"We  should  hate  to  miss  it  even  for  a  moment." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Vivian!"  whispered  Lady  Julia,  "this  is 
dreadful.  I'm  almost  sure  he's  brought  it  with  him." 

"No,  no.    It's  not  alive." 

"A"  dead  mouse !" 

"It's  a  river." 

"A  river !    But  he  said  it  was  a  mouse." 

"It's  both.  Mr.  Sagittarius,"  added  the  Prophet, 
in  a  loud  and  desperate  tone  of  voice,  "you'll  find  this 
champagne  quite  dry.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  it." 

"Did  you  get  it  from  by  the  rabbit  shop,  sir?"  asked 
Mr.  Sagittarius,  lifting  his  glass.  "I  ordered  a  dozen 
in,  only  the  day  before  yesterday." 

Lady  Julia  began  to  tremble. 

"I  see,"  she  whispered  to  the  Prophet.  "His  mania 
is  about  animals." 


248    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  had  made  a  warning  face 
at  Mr.  Sagittarius,  who  suddenly  remembered  his 
danger  and  subsided,  glancing  uneasily  at  Sir  Tiglath, 
whose  intention  of  addressing  him  had  been  momen- 
tarily interfered  with  by  a  sweetbread  masked  in  a 
puree  of  spinach. 

Madame  Sagittarius,  assisted  by  food  and  dry 
champagne,  was  now — as  the  Prophet  perceived  with 
horror — beginning  to  feel  quite  at  her  ease.  She  pro- 
truded her  elbows,  sat  more  extensively  in  her  chair, 
rolled  her  prominent  eyes  about  the  room  as  one  accus- 
tomed to  her  state,  and  said,  with  condescension,  to 
Lady  Julia, — 

"Is  your  ladyship  to  make  one  of  the  party  at  the 
Zoological  Gardens  to-night?" 

Lady  Julia,  who  now  began  to  suppose  that  Mr. 
Sagittarius's  crazy  passion  for  animals  was  shared 
by  his  wife,  gasped  and  answered, — 

"Are  you  going  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  ?" 

"Yes,  to  an  assembly.  It  should  be  very  pleasant. 
Do  you  make  one?" 

"I  regret  that  I  am  not  invited,"  said  Lady  Julia, 
rather  stiffly. 

Madame  bridled,  under  the  impression  that  she  was 
scoring  off  a  member  of  the  aristocracy. 

"Indeed,"  she  remarked,  with  a  click.  "Yet  I  pre- 
sume that  your  ladyship  is  not  insensible  to  the  charms 
of  rout  and  collation?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  said  Lady  Julia,  beginning 
to  look  like  an  image  made  of  cast  iron. 

"I  imagine  that  the  social  whirl  finds  in  your  lady- 
ship a  willing  acolyte?" 

"Oh,  no.    I  go  out  very  little." 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher      249 

"Indeed,"  said  Madame,  with  some  contempt. 
"Then  you  do  not  frequent  the  Palace  ?" 

"The  Palace !     Do  you  mean  the  Crystal  Palace  ?" 

"Of  Buckingham?    You  are  not  an  arnicas  curiaef" 

"I  fear  I  don't  catch  your  meaning." 

"Does  not  your  ladyship  comprehend  the  Latin 
tongue?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Lady  Julia,  who  was  born  in 
an  age  when  it  was  considered  highly  improper  for 
a  young  female  to  have  any  dealings  with  the  ancients. 
"Certainly  not." 

"Dear  me !"  said  Madame,  with  pitying  amazement. 
"You  hear  her  ladyship,  Jupiter?" 

"I  do,  my  angel.  Madame  is  a  lady  of  deep  educa- 
tion, ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Merillia,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  foregoing 
cross-examination  with  perpetually-increasing  horror. 

"No  decent  female  should  understand  Greek  or 
Latin,"  roared  Sir  Tiglath  at  this  point.  "If  she  does 
she's  sure  to  read  a  great  deal  that  she's  no  business 
to  know  anything  about." 

At  this  challenge  Madame's  bulging  brow  was  over- 
cast with  a  red  cloud. 

"I  beg  to  disagree,  sir,"  she  exclaimed.  "In  my 
opinion  the  Georgics  of  Horatius,  Homer's  Idyls  and 
the  satires  of  the  great  Juvenile — " 

"The  great  what?"  bellowed  Sir  Tiglath. 

"The  great  Juvenile,  sir." 

"There  never  was  a  great  juvenile,  ma'am.  Talent 
must  be  mellow  before  it  is  worth  the  tasting,  whatever 
the  modern  whipper-snapper  may  say.  There  never 
was,  and  there  never  will  be,  a  great  juvenile — there 
can  only  be  a  juvenile  preparing  to  be  great." 


250    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Really,  sir." 

"I  affirm  it,  madam.  And  as  you  seem  so  mighty 
fond  of  Latin,  remember  what  Horace  says — Qui  cupit 
opatam  cursu  contingere  metam,  Multa  tulit  fecitque 
puer,  sudavit  et  alsit.  Oh-h-h-h !" 

And  Sir  Tiglath  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
puffing  out  his  enormous  cheeks  and  wagging  his 
gigantic  head  at  Madame  who,  for  once  in  her  life, 
seemed  entirely  at  a  loss,  and  unable  to  call  to  her 
assistance  a  single  shred  of  learning  from  the  library 
of  Dr.  Carter. 

Having  at  last  emerged  from  his  Epicurean  silence, 
the  astronomer  now  proceeded  to  take  the  floor. 
Satisfied  that  he  had  laid  a  presuming  female  low,  he 
swung  round,  as  if  upon  a  pivot,  to  where  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius was  sitting  in  the  greatest  agitation,  and  roared, — 

"And  now,  sir  what  is  all  this  about  your  being  an 
outside  broker?  I  was  distinctly  informed  by  this 
gentleman  only  a  night  or  two  ago  that  you  were 
a  distinguished  astronomer." 

"I  am  betrayed !"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius,  dropping 
the  knife  and  fork  which  he  had  just  picked  up  for 
the  dissection  of  a  lobster  croquette.  "I  said  this  was 
a  trap.  I  said  it  was  a  rat-trap  from  the  first." 

"I  knew  he  must  be  a  ratcatcher,"  whispered  Lady 
Julia  to  the  Prophet,  who  was  about  to  rise  from  his 
seat  and  endeavour  to  calm  his  guest.  "I  was  certain 
no  one  but  a  ratcatcher  could  talk  in  such  a  manner." 

"He  is  not  indeed !  Mr.  Sagittarius,  pray  sit  down ! 
You  are  alarming  my  grandmother." 

"I  can't  help  that,  sir.  I  am  not  going  to  sit  here, 
sir,  and  be  slain." 

"Tsh!     Tsh!     I  merely  informed  Sir  Tiglath  the 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher      251 

other  evening  that  what  Miss  Minerva  had  told  him 
about  you  was  true." 

"Miss  Minerva !"  cried  Madame,  glancing  at  her 
husband  in  a  most  terrible  manner.  "Miss  Minerva!" 

"Lady  Enid  Thistle,  I  mean,"  cried  the  Prophet, 
mentally  cursing  the  day  when  he  was  born. 

"Who's  that?"  exclaimed  Madame,  beginning  to 
look  almost  exactly  like  Medusa. 

"A  young  female  who  informed  the  old  astronomer 
that  your  husband  and  an  elderly  female  named  Mrs. 
Bridgeman  had  for  a  long  while  been  carrying  on 
astronomical  investigations  together — " 

"Carrying  on  together!"  vociferated  Madame. 
"Jupiter'!" 

"And  that  they  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  probably  oxygen  in  certain  of  the  holy  fixed 
stars.  Oxygen,  so  the  elderly  female — " 

"Oxygen  in  an  elderly  female!"  cried  Madame,  in 
the  greatest  excitement.  "Jupiter,  is  this  true  ?" 

Mr.  Sagittarius  was  about  to  bring  forward  a  flat 
denial  when  the  Prophet,  leaning  behind  the  terrified 
back  of  Lady  Julia,  hissed  in  his  ear, — 

"Say  yes,  or  he'll  find  out  who  you  really  are !" 

"Yes,"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius,  in  a  catapultic  manner. 

Madame  began  to  show  elaborate  symptoms  of 
preparation  for  a  large-sized  fit  of  hysterics.  She 
caught  her  breath  five  or  six  times  running  in  a  re- 
sounding manner,  heaved  her  bosom  beneath  the  green 
chiffon  and  coffee-coloured  lace,  and  tore  feebly  with 
both  hands  at  a  large  medallion  brooch  that  was  doing 
sentry  duty  near  her  throat. 

"Pray,  pray,  Madame,"  exclaimed  the  Prophet,  who 
was  now  near  his  wits'  end.  "Pray — " 


252    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"How  can  I  pray  at  table,  sir?"  she  retorted,  sud- 
denly showing  fight.  "You  forget  yourself." 

"Oh,  Hennessey,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Merillia,  "what 
does  all  this  mean?" 

"Nothing,  grannie,  nothing  except  that  Mr.  Sagitta- 
rius is  a  very  modest  man  and  does  not  care  to 
acknowledge  the  greatness  of  his  talents.  Pray  sit 
down,  Mr.  Sagittarius.  Here  is  the  ice  pudding. 
Madame,  I  am  sure  you  will  take  some  ice.  Mr. 
Ferdinand !" 

"Sir?" 

"The  ice  to  Madame  Sagittarius  instantly !" 

Mr.  Ferdinand,  who  was  trembling  in  every  limb  at 
having  to  assist  at  such  a  scene  in  his  dining-room, 
which  had  hitherto  been  the  very  temple  of  soft  con- 
versation and  the  most  exquisite  decorum,  advanced 
towards  Madame,  clattering  the  flat  silver  dish,  and 
causing  the  frozen  delicacy  that  the  cook  had  elegantly 
posed  upon  it  to  run  first  this  way  and  then  that  as  if 
in  imitative  agitation. 

"I  cannot,"  sobbed  Madame,  beginning  once  more 
to  catch  her  breath.  "At  such  a  moment  food  becomes 
repulsive !" 

"I  assure  you  our  cook's  ice  puddings  are  quite 
delicious ;  aren't  they,  grannie  ?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  Hennessey,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia, 
who  was  so  upset  by  the  extraordinary  scene  at  which 
she  was  presiding  in  the  character  of  hostess,  that  she 
mechanically  clutched  the  left  bandeau  of  her  delight- 
ful wig,  and  set  it  quite  a  quarter  of  an  inch  awry. 

"Try  it,  Madame,"  cried  the  Prophet.  "I  implore 
you  to  try  it." 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher     253 

Thus  adjured  Madame  detached  a  large  piece  of 
the  agile  pudding  with  some  difficulty,  and  subsided 
into  a  morose  silence,  while  her  husband  sat  with  his 
eyes  fixed  imploringly  upon  her,  totally  regardless  of 
his  social  duties.  As  both  Mrs.  Merillia  and  Lady 
Julia  were  by  this  time  thoroughly  unnerved,  and  Sir 
Tiglath  was  once  more  immersed  in  his  food,  the  whole 
burden  of  conversation  fell  upon  the  Prophet,  who 
indulged  in  a  feverish  monologue  that  lasted  until  the 
end  of  dinner.  What  he  talked  about  he  could  never 
afterwards  certainly  remember,  but  he  had  a  vague 
idea  that  he  discussed  the  foreign  relations  of  England 
with  Madagascar,  the  probable  future  of  Poland,  the 
social  habits  of  the  women  of  Alaska,  the  prospects  of 
tobacco  culture  in  West  Meath,  and  the  effect  that 
imported  Mexicans  would  be  likely  to  produce  upon 
the  natural  simplicity  of  such  unsophisticated  persons 
as  inhabit  Lundy  Island  or  the  more  remote  districts 
of  the  Shetlands.  When  the  ladies  at  length  rose  to 
leave  the  dining-room  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl  and 
he  had  little  doubt  that  his  temperature  was  up  to  104. 
Nevertheless  his  mind  was  still  active,  was  indeed 
preternaturally  acute  for  the  moment,  and  he  saw  in 
a  flash  the  impossibility  of  leaving  Madame  Sagittarius 
alone  with  his  grandmother  and  Lady  Julia.  As  they 
got  up  from  their  seats  he  therefore  took  out  his  watch 
and  said, — 

"Dear  me!  It  is  later  than  I  had  supposed.  I  am 
afraid  we  ought  to  be  starting  for  Zoological  House. 
Mrs.  Bridgeman  will  be  expecting  us." 

"Certainly,  sir,  certainly !"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  with 
all  the  alacrity  of  supreme  cowardice,  and  casting  a 


254    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

terror-stricken  glance  towards  Sir  Tiglath,  who  was 
glowering  at  him  with  glassy  eyes  above  a  glass  of 
port.  "Mrs.  Bridgeman  will  be  expecting  us!" 

"I  will  assume  my  cloak,"  said  Madame,  fiercely. 
"Jupiter!" 

"My  darling!" 

"Kindly  seek  my  furs." 

"Certainly,  my  love,"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius,  dart- 
ing eagerly  from  the  apartment  to  fetch  the  rabbit- 
skins. 

"Lady  Julia,  I  hope  you  will  forgive  us,"  said  the 
Prophet,  with  passionate  contrition.  "If  I  had  had 
the  slightest  idea  that  we  should  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  to-night,  of  course  I  should  have  given  up 
this  engagement.  But  it  is  such  an  old  one — settled 
months  ago — and  I  have  promised  Mrs.  Bridgeman 
so  faithfully  that — " 

"The  old  astronomer  will  go  with  you,"  cried  Sir 
Tiglath  at  this  moment,  swallowing  his  glass  of  port 
at  a  gulp,  and  rolling  out  of  his  chair. 

The  Prophet  turned  cold,  thinking  of  Miss  Minerva, 
who  would  be  present  at  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  living  her 
secret  double  life.  It  was  imperative  to  prevent  the 
astronomer  from  accompanying  them. 

"I  did  not  think  you  knew  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  Sir 
Tiglath,"  the  Prophet  began,  while  Mrs.  Merillia  and 
Lady  Julia  stood  blankly  near  the  door,  trying  to  look 
calm  and  dignified  while  everyone  was  ardently  pre- 
paring to  desert  them. 

"The  old  astronomer  must  know  her  before  the 
evening  is  one  hour  more  advanced.  He  must  ques- 
tion her  regarding  the  holy  stars.  He  must  examine 
her  and  this  Sagittarius,  who  claims  to  be  an  outside 


Malkiel  Mistaken  for  a  Ratcatcher     255 

broker  and  yet  to  have  discovered  oxygen  in  the  fixed 
inhabitants  of  the  sacred  heavens.  My  cloak!" 

The  last  words  were  bellowed  at  Gustavus,  who 
rushed  forward  with  Sir  Tiglath's  Inverness. 

The  Prophet  bowed  his  head  and,  metaphorically, 
threw  up  the  sponge. 

"Lady  Julia,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  in  a  soft  voice  that 
slightly  trembled,  "let  us  go  upstairs." 

The  two  old  ladies  bowed  with  tearful  dignity,  and 
retired  with  a  sort  of  gentle  majesty  that  cut  the 
Prophet  to  the  heart. 

"One  moment,  if  you  please !"  he  said  to  his  guests. 

And  he  darted  out  of  the  room  and  leaped  up  the 
stairs.  He  found  Mrs.  Merillia  and  Lady  Julia  just 
about  to  dispose  themselves  side  by  side  upon  a  sofa 
near  the  fire.  They  turned  and  looked  at  him  with 
reproachful  doves'  eyes. 

"Grannie — Lady  Julia!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  implore 
your  forgiveness.  Pardon  me!  Appearances  are 
against  me,  I  know.  But  some  day  you  may  under- 
stand how  I  am  placed.  My  position  is — my — my 
situation — I — you — do  not  wholly  condemn  me !  Wait 
— wait  a  few  days,  I  implore  you !" 

He  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

The  two  old  ladies  seated  themselves  upon  the  sofa, 
and  tremblingly  spread  abroad  their  damask  skirts. 
They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  shaking  their 
elegant  heads.  Then  Mrs.  Merillia  said,  in  a  flutter- 
ing voice, — 

"Oh,  Julia,  you  were  a  lady  in  waiting  to  Her 
Majesty,  you  were  kissed  by  the  great  Duke — tell  me 
— tell  me  what  it  all  means !" 

"Victoria,"  replied  Lady  Julia,  "it  means  that  your 


256    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

grandson  has  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  a  dangerous 
and  determined  ratcatcher." 

And  then  the  two  old  ladies  mingled  their  damask 
skirts  and  their  lace  caps  and  wept. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  SILLY   LIFE 

"CALL  a  cab  for  Sir  Tiglath,  Mr.  Ferdinand,"  whis- 
pered the  Prophet — "a  four-wheeler  with  a  lame  horse. 
I'll  take  both  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius  in  the 
brougham." 

"Must  the  horse  be  lame,  sir?" 

"Yes.  I  absolutely  decline  to  encourage  the  practice 
of  using  good  horses  in  four-wheel  cabs.  It's  a  dis- 
grace to  the  poor  animals.  It  must  be  a  very  lame 
horse." 

"Yes,  sir." 

And  Mr.  Ferdinand,  standing  upon  the  doorstep, 
whistled  to  the  night. 

Strange  to  say,  in  about  two  minutes  there  ap- 
peared round  the  corner  the  very  same  cabman  who 
had  conveyed  the  Prophet  and  Lady  Enid  to  the 
astronomer's  on  the  previous  day,  driving  the  very 
same  horse. 

"This  horse  will  do  admirably,"  said  the  Prophet  to 
Mr.  Ferdinand. 

"He  isn't  lame,  sir." 

"P'r'aps  not;  but  he  knows  how  to  tumble  down. 
Sir  Tiglath,  here  is  a  cab  for  you.  We  shall  go  in 
the  brougham.  Zoological  House,  Regent's  Park,  is 
the  direction.  Let  me  help  you  in,  Madame." 


258    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

As  the  Prophet  got  in  to  sit  bodkin  between  his  old 
and  valued  friends,  he  whispered  to  the  footman, — 

"Tell  Simkins  to  drive  as  fast  as  possible.  We  are 
very  late." 

The  footman  touched  his  hat.  Just  as  the  carriage 
moved  off,  the  Prophet  protruded  his  head  from  the 
window,  and  saw  the  astronomer  rolling  into  the  four- 
wheeler,  the  horse  of  which  immediately  fell  down  in 
a  most  satisfactory  manner. 

There  was  no  general  conversation  in  the  brougham, 
but  the  Prophet,  who  was  obliged  to  sit  partly  on 
Madame,  and  partly  on  Mr.  Sagittarius  and  partly  on 
air,  occasionally  heard  in  the  darkness  at  his  back 
terrible  matrimonial  whisperings,  whose  exact  tenor 
he  was  unable  to  catch.  Once  only  he  heard  Madame 
say  sibilantly  and  with  a  vicious  click, — 

"I  might  have  known  what  to  expect  when  I  mar- 
ried a  Prophet — when  I  passed  over  the  pons  asinoribus 
to  give  myself  to  a  monstram  horrendo." 

To  this  pathetic  heart-cry  Mr.  Sagittarius  made 
a  very  prolonged  answer.  The  Prophet  knew  it  was 
prolonged  because  Mr.  Sagittarius  always  whispered 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  tickle  the  nape  of  his  neck. 
But  he  could  not  hear  anything  except  a  sound  like 
steam  escaping  from  a  small  pipe.  The  steam  went 
on  escaping  until  the  brougham  passed  through  a  gate, 
rolled  down  a  declivity,  and  drew  up  before  an  enor- 
mous mansion  whose  windows  blazed  with  light. 

"Is  this  the  Zoological  Gardens?"  inquired  Madame 
in  a  stern  voice.  "Is  this  the  habitation  of  the  woman 
Bridgeman  ?" 

"I  suppose  this  is  Zoological  House,"  replied  the 


The  Silly   Life  259 

Prophet,  sliding  decorously  off  Madame's  left  knee  in 
preparation  for  descent. 

"My  darling!  my  love!"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "I 
swear  upon  the  infant  head  of  our  Capricornus  that 
Mrs.  Bridgeman  and  I  are — " 

"Enough!"  cried  Madame.  "Jam  satus!  Be  sure 
that  I  will  inquire  into  this  matter." 

The  carriage  door  was  opened  and,  with  some 
struggling,  the  Prophet  and  his  two  valued  friends 
emerged  and  speedily  found  themselves  in  a  very  large 
hall,  which  was  nearly  full  of  very  large  powdered 
footmen.  In  the  distance  there  was  the  sound  of 
united  frivolities,  a  band  of  twenty  guitars  thrumming 
a  wilful  seguidilla.  Roses  bloomed  on  every  side,  and 
beyond  the  hall  they  beheld  a  vision  of  illuminated 
vistas,  down  which  vague  figures  came  and  went. 

Evidently  when  Mrs.  Bridgeman  let  herself  go  she 
let  herself  go  thoroughly. 

Mr.  Sagittarius  gazed  about  him  with  awe-struck 
amazement,  but  Madame  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 
She  cast  the  rabbit-skins  imperially  to  a  neighbouring 
flunkey,  arranged  her  hair  and  fichu  before  a  glass, 
kicked  out  her  skirt  with  the  heel  of  one  of  the  kid 
boots,  nipped  the  green  chiffon  into  prominence  with 
decisive  fingers,  and  then,  turning  to  the  Prophet  with 
all  the  majesty  of  a  suburban  empress,  said  in  a 
powerful  voice, — 

"Step  forward,  I  beg.    J'ai  pret" 

The  Prophet,  thus  encouraged,  stepped  forward 
towards  an  aperture  that  on  ordinary  days  contained 
a  door,  but  that  now  contained  a  stout  elderly  lady, 
with  henna-dyed  hair,  a  powdered  face,  black  eyebrows 


260    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

and  a  yellow  gown,  on  which  rested  a  large  number 
of  jewelled  ornaments  that  looked  like  small  bombs. 
At  this  lady's  elbow  stood  a  footman  with  an  exceed- 
ingly powerful  bass  voice,  who  shouted  the  names  of 
approaching  guests  in  a  manner  so  uncompromising 
as  to  be  almost  terrific.  Each  time  he  so  shouted  the 
stout  lady  first  started  and  then  smiled,  the  two  opera- 
tions succeeding  one  another  with  almost  inconceivable 
rapidity  and  violence. 

"What  name,  sir?"  asked  the  footman  of  the 
Prophet,  bending  his  powdered  head  till  it  was  only 
about  six  feet  two  inches  from  the  floor. 

"Mr.  Hennessey  Vivian,"  replied  the  Prophet,  hesi- 
tating as  to  what  he  should  add. 

"Mr.  Hemmerspeed  Vivian!"  roared  the  footman. 
"What  name,  Madame?"  (to  Madame  Sagittarius). 

"Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius  of  Sagittarius  Lodge, 
the  Mouse!"  replied  the  lady  majestically. 

"Mr. — and  Madame — Segerteribus — of — Segerteri- 
bus — Lodge — the — Mouse!"  bawled  the  footman. 

The  stout  lady,  who  was  Mrs.  Vane  Bridgeman, 
started  and  smiled. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Segerteribus!"  she  said 
to  the  Prophet. 

The  Prophet  hastened  to  explain  through  the  uproar 
of  the  twenty  guitars. 

"Mr.  Vivian  is  my  name.  I  think  Miss  Minerva 
Partridge—" 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  smiled. 

"Of  course,"  she  exclaimed.  "Of  course.  You  are 
to  be  kind  enough  to  introduce  me  some  day  to  Mr. 
Sagi — Sagi — something  or  other,  and  I  am  to  intro- 
duce him  to  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  when  Sir  Tiglath  Butt 


The  Silly  Life  261 

has  been  introduced  to  me  by  dear  Miss  Partridge.  It 
is  all  to  work  out  beautifully.  Yes,  yes!  Charming! 
charming !" 

"I  have  ventured  to  bring  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagitta- 
rius with  me  to-night,"  said  the  Prophet. 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  smiled. 

"They  are  my  old  and  valued  friends,  and — and  here 
they  are." 

"Delighted!  delighted!"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman, 
speaking  in  a  confused  manner  through  the  guitars. 
"How  d'you  do,  Mr.  Sagittarius?" 

And  she  shook  hands  warmly  with  a  very  small  and 
saturnine  clergyman  decorated  with  a  shock  of  ebon 
hair,  who  was  passing  at  the  moment. 

"Biggie!"  said  the  little  clergyman. 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  smiled. 

"Biggie!"  repeated  the  little  clergyman.     "Biggie!" 

The  guitars  rose  up  with  violence,  and  all  the  hot, 
drubbing  passion  of  Bayswater  being  Spanish. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  so  agree  with  you,  dear  Mr. 
Sagittarius,"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman  to  the  little 
clergyman. 

"Biggie !"  the  little  clergyman  cried  in  a  portentous 
voice.  "Biggie !  Biggie !" 

"What  does  he  mean?"  whispered  Mrs.  Bridgeman 
to  the  Prophet.  How  does  one  ?" 

"I  think  that  is  his  name.  These  are  Mr.  and 
Madame  Sagittarius." 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  smiled. 

"Biggie — of  course,"  she  said  to  the  little  clergyman, 
who  passed  on  with  an  air  of  reliant  self-satisfaction. 
"Delighted  to  see  you,"  she  added,  this  time  address- 
ing the  Prophet's  old  and  valued  friends.  "Ah!  Mr. 


262     The  Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

Sagi — Sagi — um — I  have  heard  so  much  of  you  from 
dear  Miss  Minerva." 

The  wild,  high  notes  of  a  flute,  played  by  a  silly 
gentleman  from  Tooting,  shrilled  through  the  tupping 
of  the  guitars,  and  Mr.  Sagittarius,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  hissed  in  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  ear, — 

"Hush,  ma'am,  for  mercy's  sake!" 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  forgot  to  smile. 

"My  loved  and  honoured  wife,"  continued  Mr. 
Sagittarius,  in  a  loud  and  anxious  voice,  "more  to  me 
than  any  lunar  guide  or  starry  monitor!  Madame 
Sagittarius,  a  lady  of  deep  education,  ma'am." 

"Delighted !"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  making  a  gra- 
cious grimace  at  Madame,  who  inclined  herself  stonily 
and  replied  in  a  sinister  voice, — 

"It  is  indeed  time  that  this  renconter  took  place. 
Henceforth,  ma'am,  I  shall  be  ever  at  my  husband's 
side,  per  fus  et  nefus — et  nefus,  ma'am." 

"So  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman.  "I  have  been 
longing  for  this — " 

"Mr.  Bernard  Wilkins !"  roared  the  tall  footman. 

Mr.  Sagittarius  started  and  Mrs.  Bridgeman  did  the 
same  and  smiled. 

"Bernard  Wilkins  the  Prophet!"  Mr.  Sagittariuis 
exclaimed.  "From  the  Rise !" 

"Mrs.  Eliza  Doubleway!"  shouted  the  footman. 

"Mrs.  Eliza !"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius,  in  great  excite- 
ment. "That's  the  soothsayer  from  the  Beck!" 

"Madame  Charlotte  Humm !"  yelled  the  footman. 

"Madame  Humm!"  vociferated  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
"the  crystal-gazer  from  the  Hill !" 

"Professor  Elijah  Chapman!"  bawled  the  footman. 


The  Silly  Life  263 

"The  nose-reader!"  piped  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "The 
nose-reader  from  the  Butts!" 

"Verano!"  screamed  the  footman,  triumphantly 
submerging  the  flute  and  the  twenty  guitars.  Verano !" 

"The  South  American  Irish  palmist  from  the 
Downs!  My  love,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  in  a  crack- 
ing voice,  "we  are  in  it  to-night,  we  are  indeed ;  we 
are  fairly  and  squarely  in  it." 

Madame  began  to  bridle  and  to  look  as  ostentatious 
as  a  leviathan. 

"And  if  we  are,  Jupiter!"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
rivalled  the  footman's — "if  we  are,  we  are  merely  in 
our  element.  They  needn't  think  to  come  over  me!" 

"Hush,  my  love!     Remember  that — " 

"Dr.  Birdie  Soames!"  interposed  the  vibrant  bass 
of  the  footman. 

"The  physiognomy  lady  from  the  Common !"  said 
Mr.  Sagittarius,  on  the  point  of  breaking  down  under 
the  emotion  of  the  moment.  "Scot!  Scot!  Great 
Scot!" 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  was  now  completely  surrounded 
by  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  very  remarkable-looking 
people,  among  whom  were  peculiarly  prominent  an 
enormously  broad-shouldered  man,  with  Roman  fea- 
tures and  his  hair  cut  over  his  brow  in  a  royal  fringe, 
a  small  woman  with  a  pointed  red  nose  in  bead  brace- 
lets and  prune-coloured  muslin,  and  an  elderly  female 
with  short  grizzled  hair,  who  wore  a  college  gown 
and  a  mortar-board  with  a  scarlet  tassel,  and  who 
carried  in  one  hand  a  large  skull  marked  out  in  squares 
with  red  ink.  These  were  Verano,  the  Irish  palmist 
from  the  Downs;  Mrs.  Eliza  Doubleway,  the  sooth- 


264     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

sayer  from  the  Beck;  and  Dr.  Birdie  Soames,  the 
physiognomy  lady  from  the  Common.  Immediately 
around  these  celebrities  were  grouped  a  very  pale 
gentleman  in  a  short  jacket,  who  looked  as  if  he  made 
his  money  by  eating  nothing  and  drinking  a  great  deal ; 
a  plethoric  female  with  a  mundane  face,  in  which 
was  set  a  large  and  deliberately  distracted  grey  eye; 
and  a  gentleman  with  a  jowl,  a  pug  nose,  and  a  large 
quantity  of  brass-coloured  hair  about  as  curly  as  hay, 
which  fell  down  over  a  low  collar,  around  which  was 
negligently  knotted  a  huge  black  tie.  This  trio  com- 
prised Mr.  Bernard  Wilkins,  the  Prophet  from  the 
Rise;  Madame  Charlotte  Humm,  the  crystal-gazer 
from  the  Hill;  and  Professor  Elijah  Chapman,  the 
nose-reader  from  the  Butts.  No  sooner  was  the  news 
of  the  arrival  of  these  great  and  notorious  people 
bruited  abroad  through  the  magnificent  saloons  of 
Zoological  House  than  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  guests  began 
to  flock  around  them  from  all  the  four  quarters  of 
the  mansion,  deserting  even  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
guitars  and  the  inviting  seclusion  of  the  various  re- 
freshment-rooms. From  all  sides  rose  the  hum  of 
comment  and  the  murmur  of  speculation.  Pince-nez 
were  adjusted,  eyeglasses  screwed  into  eyes,  fingers 
pointed,  feet  elevated  upon  uneasy  toes.  Pretty  girls 
boldly  trod  upon  the  gowns  of  elderly  matrons  in  the 
endeavour  to  draw  near  to  Mrs.  Bridgeman  and  her 
group  of  celebrities ;  youths  pushed  and  shoved ;  chap- 
erons elbowed,  and  old  gentlemen  darted  from  one  place 
to  another  in  wild  endeavours  to  find  an  inlet  through 
the  press.  And  amid  this  frantic  scramble  of  the  curi- 
ous, the  famous  members  of  the  occult  world  stood, 
calmly  conscious  of  their  value  and  in  no  wise  upset  or 


The  Silly  Life  265 

discomposed.  Verano  stroked  his  Roman  features,  and 
ran  his  large  white  hand  through  his  curly  fringe; 
Dr.  Birdie  Soames  tapped  her  skull;  Mrs.  Eliza 
Doubleway  played  with  her  bead  bracelets;  Mr.  Ber- 
nard Wilkins  and  Madame  Charlotte  Humm  conversed 
together  in  dreamy  murmurs;  while  Professor  Elijah 
Chapman  shook  his  brass-coloured  hair  till  it  fell  for- 
ward over  his  variegated  shirt-front,  and  glanced 
inquiringly  at  the  multitudes  of  anxious  noses  which 
offered  themselves  to  his  inspection  beneath  the  glare 
of  the  electric  lights. 

Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius,  completely  overlooked 
in  the  throng,  elbowed,  trampled  upon,  jogged  from 
behind  and  prodded  from  before,  gazed  with  a  passion 
of  bitter  envy  at  their  worshipped  rivals,  who  were  set 
in  the  full  blaze  of  success,  while  they  languished  in 
the  outer  darkness  of  anonymous  obscurity. 

"O  miseris  hominum  men — don't  set  your  feet  on 
me,  sir,  if  you  please!"  cried  Madame.  "0  pectorae 
caec — ma'am,  I  beg  you  will  take  your  elbow  from 
my  throat  this  minute!" 

But  even  her  powerful  and  indignant  organ  was 
lost  in  the  hubbub  that  mingled  with  the  wild  music 
of  the  guitars,  to  which  was  now  added  the  tinkle 
of  bells  and  the  vehement  click  of  a  round  dozen  of 
castanets,  marking  the  bull-fighting  rhythm  of  a  new 
air  called  "The  Espada's  Return  to  Madrid." 

"Jupiter !"  she  gurgled.    "I  shall  be  stiff—" 

"Mr.  Amos  Towle!"  roared  the  footman  savagely. 

"The  great  medium  from  the  Wick!" 

"Towle  the  seer !" 

"Amos  Towle,  the  famous  spiritualist !" 

"Mr.  Towle  who  materialises !" 


266    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"The  celebrated  Towle!" 

"The  great  and  only  Towle !" 

"Oh,  is  it  the  Towle?" 

"I  must  see  Towle!" 

"Where  is  he?    Oh,  where  is  Towle?" 

"Towle  who  communicates  with  the  other  world !" 

"Towle  the  magician !" 

"Towle  the  hypnotist !" 

"Towle  the  soothsayer!" 

"The  magnetic  Towle!" 

"The  electric  Towle !" 

"We  must — we  must  see  Towle!" 

Such  were  a  very  few  of  the  exclamations  that  in- 
stantly burst  forth  upon  the  conclusion  of  the  footman's 
announcement.  The  elbowing  and  trampling  became 
more  violent  than  ever,  and  Mrs.  Bridgeman  was 
forced — from  lack  of  room — to  forego  her  society 
start,  though  she  was  still  able  to  indulge  in  her  society 
smile,  as  she  bowed,  with  almost  swooning  gracious- 
ness,  to  a  short,  perspiring,  bald  and  side-whiskered 
man  in  greasy  broadcloth,  who  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  been  quite  at  home  upon  the  box  of  a  four- 
wheeled  cab,  as  indeed  he  would,  seeing  that  he  had 
driven  a  growler  for  five-and-twenty  years  before  dis- 
covering that  he  was  the  great  and  only  Towle, 
medium,  seer,  and  worker-of-miracles-in-chief  to  the 
large  and  increasing  crowd  that  lives  the  silly  life. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Towle — charmed,  delighted!"  cried  Mrs. 
Bridgeman.  "I  was  so  afraid — How  sweet  of  you  to 
come  out  all  this  way  from  your  eyrie  at  the  Wick! 
You'll  find  many  friends — dear  Madame  Charlotte — 
the  Professor — Mrs.  Eliza — they're  all  here.  And 


The  Silly   Life  267 

Miss  Minerva,  too!  Your  greatest  admirer  and 
disciple !" 

At  this  moment  the  crowd,  wild  in  its  endeavour 
to  touch  the  inspired  broadcloth  of  the  great  Towle, 
surged  forward,  and  the  Prophet  was  driven  like  a 
ram  against  the  left  side  of  his  hostess. 

"I  beg — your — pard — "  he  gasped;  "but  could  you 
tell — me — where  Miss  Minerv — erva — is?  I  special 
— ly  want  to — to — " 

"I  think  she's  with  Eureka  in  tea-room  number  2," 
replied  Mrs.  Bridgeman.  "Oh,  dear !  Near  the  band. 
Oh,  dear !  Oh,  my  gown !  Oh !  So  .sweet  of  you  to 
come,  Mrs.  Lorrimer !  Just  a  few  interesting  people ! 
Oh,  gracious  mercy !  Oh,  for  goodness'  sake !" 

She  was  thrust  against  a  new  arrival,  and  the 
Prophet,  bringing  his  shoulders  vigorously  into  play, 
according  to  the  rules  of  Rugby  football,  presently 
found  himself  out  in  the  open  and  free  to  wander  in 
search  of  Miss  Minerva,  whom  he  was  most  anxious 
to  encounter  before  the  arrival  of  Sir  Tiglath  Butt, 
which  must  now  be  imminent,  despite  the  marked  dis- 
inclination of  his  horse  to  proceed  at  the  rate  of  more 
than  half  a  mile  an  hour. 

The  Prophet  abandoned  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagitta- 
rius to  their  fate,  thankful,  indeed,  to  be  rid  for  a 
moment  of  their  prophetic  importunity. 

Following  the  gasped  directions  of  Mrs.  Bridgeman, 
he  made  towards  the  guitars,  threading  a  number  of 
drawing-rooms,  and  passing  by  the  doors  of  various 
mysterious  chambers  which  were  carefully  curtained 
off  in  a  most  secret  manner.  Here  and  there  he  saw 
groups  of  people — men  in  extraordinary  coats  and 


268     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

with  touzled  masses  of  hair,  women  in  gowns  made  of 
the  cheapest  materials  and  cut  in  the  most  impossible 
fashions.  Some  wore  convolvulus  on  their  heads,  ivy- 
leaves,  trailing  fuchsia,  or  sprigs  of  plants  known  only 
to  suburban  haberdashers;  others  appeared  boldly  in 
caps  of  the  pork-pie  order,  adorned  with  cherry- 
coloured  streamers,  clumps  of  feathers  that  had  never 
seen  a  bird,  bunches  of  shining  fruits,  or  coins  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  just  emerged  from  the  seclusion 
of  the  poor-box.  Thread  gloves  abounded,  and  were 
mostly  in  what  saleswomen  call  "the  loud  shades" — 
bright  scarlet,  marigold  yellow,  grass  green  or  acute 
magenta.  Mittens,  too,  were  visible  covered  with 
cabalistic  inscriptions  in  glittering  beadwork.  Not  a 
few  gentlewomen,  like  Madame,  trod  in  elastic-sided 
boots,  and  one  small  but  intrepid  lady  carried  herself 
boldly  in  a  cotton  skirt  topped  with  a  tartan  blouse 
"carried  out"  in  vermilion  and  sulphur  colour,  over 
which  was  carelessly  adjusted  a  macintosh  cape  par- 
tially trimmed  with  distressed-looking  swansdown. 
Here  and  there  might  be  seen  some  smart  London 
woman,  perfectly  dressed  and  glancing  with  amused 
amazement  at  the  new  fashions  about  her;  here  and 
there  a  well  set-up  man,  with  normal  hair  and  a  tie 
that  would  not  have  terrified  Piccadilly.  But  for  the 
most  part  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  guests  were  not  quite 
usual  in  appearance,  and,  indeed,  were  such  as  the 
Prophet  had  never  gazed  upon  before. 

Presently  the  uproar  of  the  guitars  grew  more 
stentorian  upon  his  ear,  and,  leaving  on  his  left  an 
astonishing  chamber  that  contained  from  a  dozen  to 
fifteen  small  round  tables,  with  nothing  whatever  upon 
them,  the  Prophet  emerged  into  an  inner  hall  where, 


The  Silly  Life  269 

in  quite  a  grove  of  shrubs  hung  with  fairy  lights, 
twenty  young  ladies,  dressed  from  top  to  toe  in  scarlet, 
and  each  wearing  a  large  golden  medal,  were  being  as 
Spanish  as  if  they  had  not  been  paid  for  it,  while 
twelve  more  whacked  castanets  and  shook  bells  with  a 
frenzy  that  was  worth  an  excellent  salary,  the  silly 
gentleman  from  Tooting  the  while  blowing  furiously 
upon  his  flute,  and  combining  this  intemperate  in- 
dulgence with  an  occasional  assault  upon  a  cottage 
piano  that  stood  immediately  before  him,  or  a  wave  of 
the  baton  that  asserted  his  right  to  the  position  of 
chef  d'orchestre.  Immediately  beyond  this  shrine  of 
music  the  Prophet  perceived  a  Moorish  nook  con- 
taining a  British  buffet,  and,  in  quite  the  most  Moorish 
corner  of  this  nook,  seated  upon  a  divan  that  would 
have  been  at  home  in  Marakesh,  he  caught  sight  of 
Miss  Minerva  in  company  with  a  thin,  fatigued  and 
wispy  lady  in  a  very  long  vermilion  gown,  and  an 
extremely  small  gentleman — apparently  of  the  Hebrew 
persuasion — who  was  smartly  dressed,  wore  white 
gloves  and  a  buttonhole,  and  indulged  in  a  great  deal 
of  florid  gesticulation  while  talking  with  abnormal 
vivacity.  Miss  Minerva,  who  was  playing  quietly  with 
a  lemon  ice,  looked  even  more  sensible  than  usual,  the 
Prophet  thought,  in  her  simple  white  frock.  She 
seemed  to  be  quite  at  home  and  perfectly  happy  with 
her  silly  friends,  but,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  hovering 
anxiously  to  the  left  of  the  guitars,  she  beckoned  to 
him  eagerly,  and  he  hurried  forward. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Vivian,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  Let 
me  introduce  you  to  my  great  friend  Eureka" — the 
lady  in  vermilion  bowed  absent-mindedly,  and  rolled 


270    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

her  huge  brown  eyes  wearily  at  the  Prophet — "and  to 
Mr.  Briskin  Moses." 

The  little  gentleman  made  a  stage  reverence  and 
fluttered  his  small  hands  airily. 

"Pretty  sight,  pretty  sight!"  he  said  in  a  quick  and 
impudent  voice.  "All  these  little  dears  enjoying  them- 
selves so  innocently.  Mother  Bridgeman's  chickens, 
I  call  them.  But  it's  impossible  to  count  them,  even 
after  they're  hatched.  Cheese  it !" 

The  final  imperative  was  flung  demurely  at  a  mighty 
footman,  who  just  then  tried  to  impound  Mr.  Moses's 
not  quite  finished  brandy-and-soda. 

"Sir?"  said  the  mighty  footman. 

"Cheese  it!"  cried  Mr.  Moses,  making  a  gesture  of 
tragic  repugnance  in  the  direction  of  the  footman. 

The  mighty  footman  cheesed  it  with  dignity,  and 
afterwards,  in  the  servants'  hall,  spoke  very  bitterly 
of  Israel. 

The  Prophet  was  extremely  anxious  to  get  a  word 
alone  with  Miss  Minerva.  Indeed,  it  was  really  im- 
portant that  he  should  warn  her  of  Sir  Tiglath's  ap- 
proach, but  he  could  find  no  opportunity  of  doing  so, 
for  Mr.  Moses,  who  was  not  afflicted  with  diffidence, 
rapidly  continued,  in  a  slightly  affected  and  tripping 
cockney  voice, — 

"Mother  Bridgeman's  a  dear  oner!  God  bless  her 
for  a  pretty  soul!  She'd  be  sublime  in  musical 
comedy — the  black  satin  society  lady,  you  know,  who 
makes  the  aristocratic  relief, — 

"  'I'm  a  Dowager  Duchess,  and  everyone  knows 
I'm  a  lady  right  down  to  the  tip  of  my  toes.' 

Very  valuable  among  the  minxes;  worth  her  weight 


The  Silly  Life  271 

in  half-crowns!  I'd  give  her  an  engagement  any  day, 
pretty  bird!  Ever  seen  her  driving  in  a  cab?  She 
takes  off  her  gloves  and  spreads  out  her  hands  over 
the  apron  to  get  the  air.  A  canary!  Anything  for 
me  to-night,  Eureka  ?  A  dove,  a  mongoose — anything 
lucky?  Give  us  a  chance,  mother !" 

The  lady  in  vermilion,  who  had  a  tuft  of  golden 
hair  in  the  midst  of  her  otherwise  raven  locks, 
glanced  mysteriously  at  Mr.  Moses. 

"See  anything,  mother?"  he  asked,  with  theatrical 
solemnity.  "A  tiny  chunk  of  luck  for  tricky  little 
Briskin?" 

"I  do  see  something,"  said  Eureka,  in  a  dim  and 
heavy  voice.  "It's  just  close  to  you  on  that  table  by 
the  brandy." 

'  Mr.  Moses  started,  and  cast  a  glance  of  awe  at  the 
tumbler. 

"My  word,"  he  cried — "my  word,  mother !  What's 
the  blessed  little  symbol  like  ?  Not  a  pony  fresh  from 
Jerusalem  for  your  believing  boy !" 

"You  must  wait  a  moment.  It  is  not  clear,"  re- 
plied "Eureka,  slowly  and  dreamily,  fixing  her  heavy 
eyes  on  the  brandy-and-soda.  "It's  all  cloudy." 

"Been  imbibing,  mother?  Has  the  blessed  little 
symbol  been  at  it  again?  Briskin's  shock-shocked!" 

"It's  getting  clearer.     It  stands  in  a  band  of  fire." 

"Shade  of  Shadrach!  Apparition  of  Abednego! 
Draw  it  mild  and  bitter,  mother !" 

"Ah !  now  it  steps  out.     It's  got  a  hump." 

"Got  the  hump,  mother?  My  word!  then  it  must 
be  either  a  camel  or  an  undischarged  bankrupt! 
Which  is  it,  pretty  soul  ?" 

"It's  a  rhinoceros.     It's  moving  to  you." 


272    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yokohama,  mother!  Tell  the  pretty  bird  to  keep 
back !  What's  it  mean  ?" 

"It's  a  sign  of  plenty." 

"Plenty  of  what,  mother?  The  ready  or  the  nose- 
bag? Give  us  a  chance !" 

"Plenty  of  good  fortune,  because  its  head  is  towards 
you.  If  it  had  presented  its  tail,  it  would  mean  black 
weather." 

"Don't  let  it  turn  tail,  for  Saturday's  sake,  mother. 
Keep  its  head  straight  while  I  finish  the  brandy !" 

And  so  saying,  little  Mr.  Moses,  with  elaborate 
furtiveness,  caught  up  the  tumbler,  poured  its  con- 
tents down  his  throat,  and  threw  himself  back  on  the 
divan  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just  escaped 
from  peril  by  the  consummate  personal  exercise  of 
unparalleled  and  sustained  ingenuity. 

During  this  scene  Miss  Minerva  had  preserved  her 
air  of  pronounced  Scottish  good  sense,  while  listening 
attentively,  and  she  now  said  to  Eureka, — 

"D'you  see  anything  for  Mr.  Vivian,  dear  Eureka? 
Even  the  littlest  thing  would  be  welcomed." 

Eureka  stared  upon  the  Prophet,  who  began  to  feel 
very  nervous. 

"There's  something  round  his  head,"  she  remarked, 
with  her  usual  almost  sacred  earnestness. 

The  Prophet  mechanically  put  up  his  hands,  like  a 
man  anxious  to  interfere  with  the  assiduous  attentions 
of  a  swarm  of  bees. 

"Something  right  round  his  head." 

"Is  it  a  halo?"  asked  Miss  Minerva. 

"Is  it  a  Lincoln  &  Bennet,  mother?"  cried  Mir. 
Moses.  "One  of  the  shiny  ones — twenty-one  bob,  and 
twenty-five-and-six  if  you  want  a  kid  lining?" 


The  Silly  Life  273 

"No ;  it's  like  some  sort  of  bird." 

"  'I  heard  the  owl  beneath  my  eaves  complaining,'  " 
chirped  Mr.  Moses,  taking  two  or  three  high  notes  in 
a  delicate  tenor  voice.  "  'I  looked  forth — great  Scot ! 
how  it  was  raining !'  Is  it  an  owl,  mother  ?  Ask  it  to 
screech  to  Briskin." 

"It  is  no  owl,"  said  Eureka  to  the  Prophet.  "It  is 
a  sparrow — your  bird." 

"Is  it  upon  the  housetop,  mother,  having  a  spree  all 
on  its  little  alone  ?" 

"No ;  it  is  hovering  over  the  gentleman." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  said  the  Prophet,  anx- 
iously. 

But  at  this  point  Eureka  suddenly  seemed  to  lose 
interest  in  the  matter.  "Oh,  you're  all  right,"  she 
said  carelessly.  "I'm  tired.  I  should  like  a  wafer." 

"Mother's  peckish.  Mother,  I  see  an  ostrich  by 
your  left  elbow.  That's  a  sign  that  you're  so  peckish 
you  could  swallow  anything.  Waiter !" 

"Sir!" 

"This  lady's  so  peckish  she  could  eat  anything. 
Bring  her  some  tin-tacks  and  a  wafer.  Stop  a  sec. 
Another  brandy  for  Briskin.  Your  calves'd  do  for  the 
front  row;  'pon  my  word,  they  would.  Trot,  boy, 
trot!" 

,  "I  must  speak  to  you  alone  for  one  moment," 
whispered  the  Prophet  to  Miss  Minerva,  under  cover 
of  the  quips  of  Mr.  Moses.  "Sir  Tiglath's  coming!" 
.  Miss  Minerva  started. 

"Sir  Tig — "  she  exclaimed  and  put  her  finger  to  her 
lips  just  in  time  to  stop  the  "lath"  from  coming  out. 
"Mr.  Moses,  I'm  going  to  the  buffet  for  a  moment 
with  Mr.  Vivian.  Eureka,  darling,  do  eat  something 


274     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

substantial!  All  this  second  sight  takes  it  out  of 
you." 

Eureka  acquiesced  with  a  heavy  sigh,  Mr.  Moses 
cried,  "Aunt  Eureka's  so  hungry  that  one  would  de- 
clare she  could  even  eat  oats  if  she  found  they  were 
there!"  and  Miss  Minerva  and  the  Prophet  moved 
languidly  towards  the  buffet,  endeavouring,  by  the 
indifference  of  their  movements,  to  cover  the  agitation 
in  their  hearts. 

"Sir  Tiglath  coming  here!"  cried  Miss  Minerva 
under  her  breath,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  earshot. 
"But  he  doesn't  know  Mrs.  Bridgeman !" 

"I  know — but  he's  coming.  And  not  only  that,  Mr. 
and  Madame  Sagittarius  are  here  already !" 

Miss  Minerva  looked  closely  at  the  Prophet  in 
silence  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said, — 

"I  see— I  see!" 

"What?"  cried  the  Prophet,  in  great  anxiety,  "not 
the  sparrow  on  my  head  ?" 

"No.  But  I  see  that  you're  taking  to  your  double 
life  in  real  earnest." 

"I?" 

"Yes.  Now,  Mr.  Vivian,  that's  all  very  well,  and 
you  know  I'm  the  last  person  to  complain  of  anything 
of  that  sort,  so  long  as  it  doesn't  get  me  into  diffi- 
culties." 

"Think  of  the  difficulties  you  and  everyone  else  have 
got  me  into,"  ejaculated  the  poor  Prophet,  for  once  in 
his  life  stepping,  perhaps,  a  hair's-breadth  from  the 
paths  of  good  breeding. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I've  done  nothing." 

"Nothing!"  said  the  Prophet,  losing  his  head  under 
the  influence  of  the  guitars,  which  were  now  getting 


The  Silly  Life  275 

under  weigh  in  a  fantasia  on  "Carmen."  "Nothing! 
Why,  you  made  me  come  here,  you  insisted  on  my 
introducing  Mr.  Sagittarius  to  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  you 
told  Sir  Tiglath  Mrs.  Bridgeman  and  I  were  old 
friends  and  had  made  investigations  together,  assisted 
by  Mr.  Sagittarius,  you — " 

"Oh,  well,  that's  nothing.  But  Sir  Tiglath  musn't 
see  me  here  as  Miss  Minerva.  Has  he  arrived  yet?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  He's  got  the  cab  we  had  yester- 
day and  the  horse." 

"The  one  that  tumbles  down  so  cleverly  when  it's 
not  too  tired?  Capital!  Run  to  the  cloak-room, 
meet  Sir  Tiglath  there,  and  persuade  him  to  go  home." 

But  here  the  Prophet  struck. 

"I  regret  I  can't,"  he  said,  almost  firmly. 

"But  you  must." 

"I  regret  sincerely  that  I  am  unable." 

"Why  ?    Mr.  Vivian,  when  a  lady  asks  you !" 

"I  am  grieved,"  said  the  Prophet,  with  a  species  of 
intoxicated  obstinacy — the  guitars  seemed  to  be  play- 
ing inside  his  brain  and  the  flute  piping  in  the  small 
of  his- back, — "to  decline,  but  I  cannot  contend  physi- 
cally with  Sir  Tiglath,  a  man  whom  I  reverence,  in  the 
cloak-room  of  a  total  stranger." 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  contend  physically." 

"Nothing  but  personal  violence  would  keep  Sir 
Tiglath  from  coming  in." 

"Really !     Then  what's  to  be  done  ?" 

She  pursed  up  her  sensible  lips  and  drew  down  her 
sensible  eyebrows. 

"I  know!"  she  cried,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
"I'll  masquerade  to-night  as  myself." 

"As  yourself?" 


276     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Yes.  All  these  dear  silly  people  here  think  that 
I've  got  an  astral  body." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  sort  of  floating  business — a  business  that  you  can 
set  floating." 

"What — a  company  ?" 

"No,  no.  A  replica  of  yourself.  The  great 
Towle— " 

"He's  here  to-night." 

"I  knew  he  was  coming.  Well,  the  great  Towle 
detached  this  astral  body  once  at  a  seance  and,  for  a 
joke — a  silly  joke,  you  know — " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"I  christened  it  by  my  real  name,  Lady  Enid 
Thistle,  and  said  Lady  Enid  was  an  ancestress  of 
mine." 

"Why  did  you?" 

"Because  it  was  so  idiotic." 

"I  see." 

"Well,  I've  only  now  to  spread  a  report  among  these 
dear  creatures  that  I'm  astral  to-night,  and  get  Towle 
to  back  me  up,  and  I  can  easily  be  Lady  Enid  for  an 
hour  or  two.  In  this  crowd  Sir  Tiglath  need  never 
find  out  that  I'm  generally  known  in  these  circles  as 
Miss  Partridge." 

"Do  you  really  think — " 

"Yes,  I  do.     But  I  must  find  Towle  at  once." 

So  saying  she  hastened  away  from  the  buffet, 
followed  by  the  trotting  Prophet.  As  she  passed 
Eureka  and  Mr.  Moses,  she  said, — 

"Eureka,  darling,  do  I  look  odd  ?  I  suddenly  began 
to  feel  astral  just  as  I  was  going  to  eat  a  sandwich. 
I  can't  help  thinking  that  Lady  Enid — you  know,  my 


The  Silly  Life  277 

ancestress,  who's  always  with  me — is  perculiarly  pow- 
erful to-night.  D'you  notice  anything?" 

"Watch  out  for  it,  mother!"  crie  Mr.  Moses. 
"See  if  it's  got  the  hump." 

Eureka  fixed  her  heavy  eyes  on  Miss  Minerva  and 
swayed  her  thin  body  to  and  fro  in  as  panther-like  a 
manner  as  she  could  manage. 

"Mother's  after  it,"  continued  Mr.  Moses,  twitching 
his  left  ear  with  his  thumb  in  a  Hebraic  manner  and 
shooting  his  shining  cuffs;  "mother's  on  the  trail. 
Doves  for  a  bishop  and  the  little  mangel-wurzel  for 
the  labouring  man.  Clever  mother !  She'll  take  care 
it's  suitable.  Is  it  a  haggis,  mother,  hovering  over  the 
lady  with  outspread  wings?" 

Eureka  closed  her  eyes  and  rocked  herself  more 
violently. 

"I  see  you,"  she  said  in  a  deep  voice.  "You  are 
astral.  You  are  Lady  Enid  emerged  for  an  hour 
from  our  dear  Minerva." 

"I  thought  so,"  cried  Lady  Enid,  with  decision. 
"I  thought  so,  because  when  someone  called  me  Miss 
Minerva  just  now  I  felt  angry,  and  didn't  seem  to 
know  what  they  meant.  Tell  them,  dear  Eureka, — 
tell  all  my  friends  of  your  discovery." 

And  she  hastened  on  with  the  Prophet  in  search  of 
the  great  Towle. 

"I'll  get  him  to  back  Eureka  up,  and  then  it  will  be 
quite  safe,"  she  said.  "Ah !  there  he  is  with  Harriet 
Browne,  the  demonstrator  from  the  Rye." 

Indeed,  at  this  moment  a  small  crowd  was  visible  in 
one  of  the  further  drawing-rooms,  moving  obsequi- 
ously along  in  reverent  attendance  upon  the  great 
Towle,  Mrs.  Bridgeman  and  a  thickset,  red-faced  lady, 


278     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

without  a  waist  and  plainly  clad  in  untrimmed  lin- 
sey-wolsey,  who  was  speaking  authoritatively  to  a 
hysterical-looking  young  girl,  upon  whose  narrow 
shoulder  she  rested  a  heavy,  fat-fingered  hand  as  she 
walked. 

"Harriet's  evidently  going  to  demonstrate,"  added 
Lady  Enid.  "That's  lucky,  because  then  I  can  get  a 
quiet  word  with  Towle." 

"Demonstrate  ?"  said  the  Prophet. 

"Yes.  She's  the  great  Christian  Scientist  and  has 
the  healing  power.  She  demonstrated  over  Agatha 
Marshall's  left  ear.  You  know.  The  case  got  into 
the  papers.  Ah,  Harriet,  darling!" 

"My  blessing!  My  Minerva!"  said  Harriet  in  a 
thick  and  guttural  voice. 

"Lady  Enid,  Harriet  love,  to-night.  Eureka  says 
I'm  astral.  Oh,  Mr.  Towle,  what  an  honour  to  meet 
you — what  an  honour  for  us  all !" 

The  great  Towle  ducked  and  scraped  in  cabman 
fashion. 

"Oh,  will  you  materialise  for  us  to-night  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  trembling  with 
excitement.  "He's  promised  to  after  supper.  He 
says  he  feels  less  material  then — more  en  rapport  with 
the  dear  spirits." 

"How  delightful !  Mr.  Towle,  tell  me,  do  you  agree 
with  Eureka  ?  I  await  your  fiat.  Am  I  astral  ?" 

"Ay,  miss,  as  like  as  not,"  said  the  great  man, 
twisting  his  lips  as  if  they  held  a  straw  between  them. 
"Astral,  that's  it.  That's  it  to  a  T." 

"Then  I'm  Lady  Enid  Thistle,  my  ancestress,  who's 
always  with  me?" 

"Ay,  ay !    Every  bit  of  her.     Her  ladyship  to  a  T." 


The  Silly  Life  279 

The  company  was  much  impressed,  and  whispers  of 
"It's  Lady  Enid;  Eureka  and  Mr.  Towle  say  it's  her 
ladyship  in  the  astral  plane !"  flew  like  wildfire  through 
the  rooms. 

At  this  point  Harriet  Browne,  who  was  sufficiently 
Christian  and  scientific  to  like  to  have  all  the  attention 
of  the  company  centred  upon  her,  cleared  her  throat 
loudly  and  exclaimed, — 

"If  I  am  to  heal  this  poor  sufferer,  I  must  be  pro- 
vided with  an  armchair." 

"An  armchair  for  Mrs.  Browne !" 

"Fetch  a  chair  for  Harriet !" 

"Mrs.  Harriet  can't  demonstrate  without  a  chair!" 

"What  is  she  going  to  do?"  whispered  the  Prophet 
to  Lady  Enid,  feeling  thoroughly  ashamed  of  his 
ignorance. 

"Demonstrate." 

"Yes,  but  what's  that  ?" 

"Put  her  hands  over  that  girl  and  think  about  her." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  she  do  it  out  of  kindness  ?" 

"Of  course.  But  she's  paid  something,  not  because 
she  wants  to  be  paid,  but  because  it's  the  rule." 

"Oh!" 

An  armchair  was  now  wheeled  forward,  and  Mrs. 
Harriet  ensconced  herself  in  it  comfortably. 

"I'm  very  tired  to-night,"  she  remarked  in  her  thick 
voice.  "I've  had  a  hard  afternoon." 

"Poor  darling!'  cried  Mrs.  Bridgeman.  "Fetch  a 
glass  of  champagne  for  Mrs.  Harriet  somebody.  Oh, 
would  you,  Mr.  Brummich?" 

Mr.    Brummich,   a   gentleman   with   a   remarkably 


28 o    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

: .1 

foolish,  ascetic  face  and  a  feebly-wandering  sandy 
beard,  was  just  about  to  hasten  religiously  towards 
the  Moorish  nook  when  the  great  Towle  happened,  by 
accident,  to  groan.  Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and 
smiled. 

"Oh,  and  a  glass  of  champagne  for  Mr.  Towle,  too, 
dear  Mr.  Brummich !" 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Bridgeman !"  said  dear  Mr.  Brum- 
mich, hurrying  off  with  the  demeanour  of  the  head  of 
an  Embassy  entrusted  with  some  important  mission  to 
a  foreign  Court. 

"Were  you  at  work  this  afternoon,  Harriet,  be- 
loved?" inquired  Mrs.  Bridgeman  of  Mrs.  Browne, 
who  was  leaning  back  in  the  armchair  with  her  eyes 
closed  and  in  an  attitude  of  severe  prostration. 

"Yes." 

"Which  was  it,  lovebird?     Hysteric  Henry?" 

"No,  he's  cured." 

Cries  of  joy  resounded  from  those  gathered  about 
the  chair. 

"Hysteric  Henry's  cured !" 

"Henry's  better!" 

"The  poor  man  with  the  ball  in  his  throat's  been 
saved !" 

"How  wonderful  you  are,  Harriet,  sweet!"  cried 
Mrs.  Bridgeman.  "But,  then,  which  was  it?" 

"The  madwoman  at  Brussels.  I've  been  thinking 
about  her  for  two  hours  this  afternoon,  with  only  a 
cup  of  tea  between." 

"Poor  darling !  No  wonder  you're  done  up !  Ought 
you  to  demonstrate?  Ah!  here's  the  champagne!" 

"I  take  it  merely  as  medicine,"  said  Mrs.  Harriet. 

At    this    moment,    Mr.   Brummich,    flushed    with 


The  Silly  Life  281 

assiduity,  burst  into  the  circle  with  a  goblet  of  beaded 
wine  in  either  hand.  There  was  a  moment  of  solemn 
silence  while  Mrs.  Harriet  and  the  great  Towle  con- 
descended to  the  Pommery.  It  was  broken  only  by 
a  loud  gulp  from  the  hysterical-looking  girl  who  was, 
it  seemed,  nervously  affected  by  an  imitative  spasm, 
and  who  suddenly  began  to  swallow  nothing  with 
extreme  persistence  and  violence. 

"Look  at  that  poor  misguided  soul !"  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Harriet,  with  her  lips  to  the  Pommery.  "She  fancies 
she's  drinking!" 

The  poor,  misguided  soul  yielded  again  to  her  dis- 
traught imagination,  amid  the  pitiful  ejaculations  of 
the  entire  company,  with  the  exception  of  one  mun- 
dane, young  man  who,  suddenly  assailed  by  the  wild 
fancy  that  he  wasn't  drinking,  crept  furtively  to  the 
Moorish  nook,  and  was  no  more  seen." 

"Give  her  a  cushion!"  continued  Mrs.  Harriet, 
authoritatively. 

"Mr.  Brummich !"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman. 

Mr.  Brummich  ran,  and  returned  with  a  cushion. 

"Sit  down,  poor  thing !  Sit  at  my  feet !"  said  Mrs. 
Harriet,  giving  the  hysterical-looking  girl  a  healing 
push. 

The  girl  subsided  in  a  piteous  heap,  and  Mrs. 
Harriet,  who  had  by  this  time  taken  all  her  medicine, 
leant  over  her  and  inquired, — 

"Where  d'you  feel  it?" 

The  girl  put  her  hands  to  her  head. 

"Here,"  she  said  feebly.  "It's  like  fire  running  over 
me  and  drums  beating." 

"Fire  and  drums!"  announced  Mrs.  Harriet  to  the 
staring  assembly.  "That's  what  she's  got,  poor  soul !" 


282    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Ejaculations  of  sympathy  and  horror  made  them- 
selves heard. 

"Drums!  How  shocking!"  cried  Mrs.  Bridgeman. 
"Can  you  cure  even  drums,  Harriet,  my  own?" 

"Give  me  ten  minutes,  Catherine !     I  ask  but  that !" 

And,  so  saying,  Mrs.  Harriet  planted  her  fat  hands 
upon  the  head  of  the  young  patient,  closed  her  eyes 
and  began  to  breathe  very  hard. 

Silence  now  fell  upon  the  people,  who  said  not  a 
word,  but  who  could  not  prevent  themselves  from 
rustling  as  they  pressed  about  this  exhibition  of  a 
latter-day  apostle.  The  Prophet  and  Lady  Enid  were 
close  to  the  armchair,  and  the  Prophet,  who  had  never 
before  been  present  at  any  such  ceremony — it  was  ac- 
companied by  the  twenty  guitars,  now  tearing  out  the 
serenade,  "From  the  bull-ring  I  come  to  thee!" — was 
so  interested  that  he  completely  forgot  Mr.  and 
Madame  Sagittarius,  and  lost  for  the  moment  all 
memory  of  Sir  Tiglath.  The  silly  life  engrossed 
him.  He  had  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  Mrs.  Harriet, 
who,  as  she  leaned  forward  in  the  chair  with  closed 
eyes,  looked  like  a  determined  middle-aged  man  about 
to  offer  up  the  thin  girl  on  the  footstool  as  a  burnt 
sacrifice. 

"You're  better  now,  poor  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Harriet, 
after  five  minutes  had  elapsed.  "You're  feeling  much 
better?" 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not!"  said  the  girl,  shaking  her  head 
under  the  hands  of  the  demonstrator.  "The  fire's 
blazing  and  the  drums  are  beating  like  anything." 

Mrs.  Harriet's  hue  deepened,  and  there  was  a  faint 
murmur  of  vague  reproof  from  the  company. 

"H'sh!"  said  the  demonstrator,  closing  her  hands 


The  Silly  Life  283 

upon  the  patient's  head  with  some  acrimony. 
"H'sh!" 

And  she  began  to  breathe  hard  once  more.  Another 
five  minutes  elapsed,  and  then  Mrs.  Harriet  exclaimed 
with  decision, — 

"There!  It's  gone  now,  all  gone!  I've  sent  it 
right  away.  The  fire's  out  and  the  drums  have  stopped 
beating!" 

Exclamations  of  wonder  and  joy  rose  up  from  the 
spectators.  They  were,  however,  a  trifle  premature, 
for  the  hysterical  girl — who  was,  it  seemed,  a  person 
of  considerable  determination,  despite  her  feeble  ap- 
pearance— replied  from  the  footstool, — 

"No,  it  isn't.     No,  they  haven't !" 

Mrs.  Harriet  developed  a  purple  shade. 

"Nonsense !"  she  said.  "You're  cured,  love,  entirely 
cured !" 

"I'm  not,"  said  the  girl,  beginning  to  cry.  I  feel 
much  worse  since  you  pressed  my  head." 

There  was  a  burst  of  remonstrance  from  the  crowd, 
and  Mrs.  Harriet,  speaking  with  the  air  of  an  angry 
martyr,  remarked, — 

"It's  just  like  the  drinking — she  fancies  she  isn't 
cured  when  she  is,  just  the  same  as  she  fancied  she 
was  drinking  when  she  wasn't." 

This  unanswerable  logic  naturally  carried  con- 
viction to  everyone  present,  and  the  hysterical  girl  was 
warmly  advised  to  make  due  acknowledgement  of  the 
benefits  received  by  her  at  the  healing  hands  of  Mrs. 
Harriet,  while  the  latter  was  covered  with  compliments 
and  assiduously  conducted  towards  the  buffet,  escorted 
by  the  great  Towle. 

"Isn't  she  wonderful?"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  turn- 


284    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

ing  ecstatically  to  the  person  nearest  to  her,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  the  saturnine  little  clergyman.  "Isn't  she 
marvellous,  Mr. — er — Mr.  Segerteribus  ?" 

"Biggie !"  cried  the  little  clergyman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?" 

"Biggie !"  vociferated  the  little  clergyman.   "Biggie !" 

"Certainly.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that 
cure  ?  Ah !  you  ought  to  preach  about  dear  Harriet, 
Mr.  Segerteribus,  you  really — " 

"Biggie!"  reiterated  the  little  clergyman,  excitedly. 
"Biggie!  Biggie!" 

"What  does  he — "  began  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  turning 
helplessly  towards  the  Prophet. 

"It's  his  name,  I  fancy,"  whispered  the  Prophet. 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  started  and  smiled. 

"Mr.  Biggie,"  she  said. 

The  little  clergyman  moved  on  towards  the  guitars 
with  all  the  air  of  a  future  colonial  bishop.  Mrs. 
Bridgeman,  who  seemed  to  be  somewhat  confused,  and 
whose  manner  grew  increasingly  vague  as  the  evening 
wore  on,  now  said  to  those  nearest  to  her, — 

"There  are  fifteen  tables  set  out — yes,  set  out, — in 
the  green  boudoir." 

"Bedad!"  remarked  an  Irish  colonel,  "then  it's 
meself'll  enjoy  a  good  rubber." 

"For  table-turning,"  added  Mrs.  Bridgeman. 
"Materialisation  in  the  same  room  after  supper.  Mr. 
Towle — yes — will  enter  the  cabinet  at  about  eleven. 
Where's  Madame  Charlotte  ?" 

"Looking  into  the  crystal  for  Lady  Ferrier,"  said 
someone. 

"Oh,  and  the  professor?" 

"He's  reading  Archdeacon  Andrew's  nose,  by  the 
cloak-room. . 


The  Silly  Life  285 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  sighed. 

"It  seems  going  off  quite  pleasantly,"  she  said 
vaguely  to  the  Prophet.  "I  think — perhaps — might  I 
have  a  cup  of  tea  ?" 

The  Prophet  offered  his  arm.  Mrs.  Bridgeman  took 
it.  They  walked  forward,  and  almost  instantly  came 
upon  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  who,  with  a  face  even  redder 
than  usual,  was  rolling  away  from  the  hall  of  the 
guitars,  holding  one  enormous  hand  to  his  ear  and 
snorting  indignantly  at  the  various  clairvoyants,  card- 
readers,  spiritualists  and  palmists  whom  he  encoun- 
tered at  every  step  he  took.  The  Prophet  turned  pale, 
and  Lady  Enid,  who  was  just  behind  him,  put  on  her 
most  sensible  expression  and  moved  quickly  forward. 

"Ah,  Sir  Tiglath!"  she  said.  "How  delightful  of 
you  to  come!  Catherine,  dear,  let  me  introduce  Sir 
Tiglath  Butt  to  you.  Sir  Tiglath  Butt— Mrs.  Vane 
Bridgeman." 

Mrs.  Bridgeman  behaved  as  usual. 

"So  glad!"  she  said.  "So  enchanted!  Just  a  few 
interesting  people.  So  good  of  you  to  come.  Table- 
turning  is — " 

At  this  moment  Lady  Enid  nipped  her  friend's  arm, 
and  Sir  Tiglath  exclaimed,  looking  from  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man to  the  Prophet, — 

"What,  madam!  So  you're  the  brain  and  eye,  eh? 
Is  that  it?" 

The  guitars  engaged  in  "The  Gipsies  of  Granada 
are  wild  as  mountain  birds,"  and  Mrs.  Bridgeman 
looked  engagingly  distraught,  and  replied, — 

"Ah,  yes,  indeed!  The  brain  and  I,  Sir  Tiglath; 
so  good  of  you  to  say  so !" 

"You  prompted  his  interest  in  the  holy  stars  ?"  con- 


286    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

tinned  Sir  Tiglath,  speaking  very  loud,  and  still  stop- 
ping one  ear  with  his  hand.  "You  drove  him  to  the 
telescope;  you  told  him  to  clear  the  matter  up,  did 
you?" 

"What  matter  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  trying  not  to 
look  as  stupid  as  she  felt,  but  only  with  moderate 
success. 

"Say  the  oxygen,  darling,"  whispered  Lady  Enid  in 
one  of  her  ears. 

"Say  the  oxygen !"  hissed  the  Prophet  into  the  other. 

"The  occiput?"  said  Mrs.  Bridgeman,  hearing  im- 
perfectly. Oh,  yes,  Sir  Tiglath,  I  told  him — I  told 
Mr.  Biggie — to  make  quite  sure — yes,  as  to  the  occiput 
matter." 

The  saturnine  little  clergyman,  who  was  again  in 
motion  near  by,  caught  his  name  and  stopped,  as  Sir 
Tiglath,  roaring  against  "The  Gipsies  of  Granada," 
continued, — 

"And  your  original  adviser  was  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
was  he?" 

On  hearing  a  word  she  understood,  Mrs.  Bridgeman 
brightened  up,  and,  perceiving  the  little  clergyman, 
she  answered, — 

"Mr.  Sagittarius — ah,  yes !  Sir  Tiglath  is  speaking 
of  you,  Mr.  Sagittarius." 

The  little  clergyman  turned  almost  black  in  the  face. 

"Biggie!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 
"Biggie!  Biggie!" 

And,  without  further  parley,  he  rushed  to  the  cloak- 
room, seized  someone  else's  hat  and  coat,  and  fared 
forth  into  the  night.  Lady  Enid,  who  had  meant  to 
coach  Mrs.  Bridgeman  very  carefully  for  the  meeting 
with  Sir  Tiglath,  but  whose  plans  were  completely 


The  Silly  Life  287 

upset  by  the  astronomer's  premature  advent,  now  en- 
deavoured to  interpose. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  in  a  very  calm  voice, 
where  is  dear  Mr.  Sagittarius?  I  haven't  seen  him 
yet." 

"I'm  afraid  he's  angry  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man,  alluding  to  the  little  clergyman.  "I  really  can't 
think  why." 

"Sir  Tiglath,"  said  Lady  Enid,  boldly  taking  the 
astronomer's  arm.  "Come  with  me.  I  want  you  to  find 
Mr.  Sagittarius  for  me.  Yes,  they  do  make  rather  a 
noise !" 

This  was  in  allusion  to  the  guitars,  for  the  astrono- 
mer had  now  placed  both  hands  over  his  ears  in  the 
vain  endeavour  to  exclude  "The  Gipsies."  Deafness, 
perhaps,  rendered  him  yielding.  In  any  case,  he  per- 
mitted Lady  Enid  to  detach  him  from  Mrs.  Bridge- 
man  and  to  lead  him  through  the  rooms  in  search  of 
Mr.  Sagittarius. 

"Perhaps  he's  here,"  said  Lady  Enid,  entering  a 
darkened  chamber.  "Oh,  no!" 

And  she  hastily  moved  away,  perceiving  a  large 
number  of  devoted  adherents  of  table-tapping  busily 
engaged,  with  outspread  fingers  and  solemn  faces,  at 
their  intellectual  pursuit.  Avoiding  the  archdeacon, 
who  was  having  his  nose  read  by  the  professor,  she 
conducted  the  astronomer,  rendered  strangely  meek  by 
the  guitars,  into  a  drawing-room  near  the  hall,  in  which 
only  four  people  remained — Verano  and  Mrs.  Eliza 
Doubleway,  who  were  conferring  in  one  corner,  and 
Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius,  who  were  apparently 
having  rather  more  than  a  few  words  together  in 
another. 


288     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Ah !  there's  Mr.  Sagittarius !"  said  Lady  Enid. 

"Minnie!"  cried  Mrs.  Eliza,  beckoning  to  Lady 
Enid.  "Minnie,  ducky !" 

Lady  Enid  pretended  not  to  hear  and  tried  to  hasten 
with  the  astronomer  towards  the  Sagittariuses.  But 
Mrs.  Eliza  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

"Minnie,  my  pet !"  she  piped.     "Come  here,  Minnie !" 

Lady  Enid  was  obliged  to  pause. 

"What  is  it,  dear  Mrs.  Eliza  ?"  she  asked,  at  the  same 
time  making  a  face  at  the  soothsayer  to  indicate 
caution. 

Mrs.  Eliza  and  Verano  rose  and  approached  Lady 
Enid  and  the  astronomer. 

"I  was  laying  the  cards  last  night  at  Jane  Seaman's 
— you  know,  dear,  the  Angel  Gabriel  who  lives  on  the 
Hackney  Downs — and  whatever  do  you  think?  The 
hace  of  spades  come  up  three  times  in  conjugation 
with  the  knave  of  'earts !" 

"Terrific!  Very  great!"  buzzed  Verano,  with  a 
strong  South  American  Irish  brogue — a  real  broth  of 
a  brogue. 

"Wonderful !"  said  Lady  Enid,  hastily,  endeavour- 
ing to  pass  on. 

"Wait  a  minute,  darling.  Well,  I  says  to  Jane — I 
was  laying  the  cards  for  her  'usband,  dear — I  says  to 
Jane,  I  says,  without  doubt  Hisaac  is  about  to  pass 
over,  I  says,  seeing  the  red  boy's  come  up  in  conjuga- 
tion with  the  hace.  'Lord!  Mrs.  Eliza!'  she  says — 
Jane  says — 'Lord!  Mrs.  Eliza!  lay  them  out  again,' 
she  says,  'for,'  she  says,  'if  Hike  is  going  to  pass  over,' 
she  says — " 

"Extraordinary,  dear  Mrs.  Eliza !  You're  a  genius !" 
cried  Lady  Enid  in  despair. 


The  Silly  Life  289 

.'  "Tremendous!  Very  big!"  buzzed  Verano,  staring 
at  Sir  Tiglath.  "You  got  a  very  spatulate  hand  there, 
sir !  Allow  me !" 

And  to  Lady  Enid's  horror  he  seized  the  astrono- 
mer's hand  with  both  his  own. 

"How  dare  you  tamper  with  the  old  astronomer, 
sir?"  roared  Sir  Tiglath.  "Am  I  in  a  madhouse? 
Who  are  all  these  crazy  Janes  ?  Drop  my  hand,  sir !" 

Verano  obeyed  rather  hastily,  and  Lady  Enid  con- 
voyed the  spluttering  astronomer  towards  the  corner 
which  contained  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius. 

Now  these  worthies  were  in  a  mental  condition  of  a 
most  complicated  kind.  The  reception  at  Zoological 
House  had  upset  in  an  hour  the  theories  and  beliefs 
of  a  lifetime.  Hitherto  Madame  had  always  been  filled 
with  shame  at  the  thought  that  she  was  not  the  wife 
of  an  architect  but  of  a  prophet,  and  Mr.  Sagittarius 
had  endeavoured  to  asume  the  mein  and  costume  of  an 
outside  broker,  and  had  dreamed  dreams  of  retiring 
eventually  from  a  hated  and  despised  profession.  But 
now  they  found  themselves  in  a  magnificent  mansion 
in  which  the  second-rate  members  of  their  own  tribe 
were  worshipped  and  adored,  smothered  with  attentions, 
plied  with  Pommery  and  looked  upon  as  gods,  while 
they,  in  their  incognito,  were  neglected,  and  paid  no 
more  heed  to  than  if  they  had  been,  in  reality,  mere 
architects  and  outside  brokers,  totally  unconnected 
with  that  mysterious  occult  world  which  is  the  fashion 
of  the  moment. 

This  position  of  affairs  had,  not  unnaturally,  thrown 
them  into  a  condition  of  the  gravest  excitement. 
Madame,  more  especially,  had  reached  boiling  point. 
Feeling  herself,  for  the  first  time,  an  Imperial  creature 


290    The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

in  exile,  who  had  only  to  declare  herself  to  receive 
instant  homage  and  to  be  overwhelmed  with  the  most 
flattering  attentions,  her  lust  of  glory  developed  with 
alarming  rapidity,  and  she  urged  her  husband  to  cast 
the  traditions  that  had  hitherto  guided  him  to  the 
winds  and  to  declare  forthwith  his  identity  with  Malkiel 
the  Second,  the  business-like  and  as  it  were  official 
head  of  the  whole  prophetic  tribe. 

Mr.  Sagittarius,  for  his  part,  was  also  fired  with  the 
longing  for  instant  glory,  but  he  was  by  nature  an 
extremely  timid — or  shall  we  say  rather,  an  extremely 
prudent — man.  He  remembered  the  repeated  in- 
junctions of  his  great  forebear  who  had  lived  and  died 
in  the  Susan  Road  beside  the  gasworks.  More,  he 
remembered  Sir  Tiglath  Butt.  He  was  torn  between 
ambition  and  terror. 

"Declare  yourself,  Jupiter!"  cried  Madame.  "De- 
clare yourself  this  moment !" 

"My  love!"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "My  angel, 
we  must  reflect." 

"I  have  reflected,"  retorted  Madame. 

"There  are  difficulties,  my  dear,  many  difficulties  in 
the  way." 

"And  what  if  there  are?  Per  augustum  ad  augus- 
tibus.  Every  fool  knows  that." 

"My  dear,  you  are  a  little  hard  upon  me." 

"And  what  have  you  been  upon  me,  I  should  like  to 
know?  What  about  these  goings-on  with  the  woman 
Bridgeman?  What  about  your  investigations  with 
that  hussy  Minerva?  You've  been  her  owl,  that's 
.what  you've  been !" 

She  began  to  show  grave  symptoms  of  hysteria. 
Mr.  .Sagittarius  patted  her  hands  in  great  anxiety. 


The  Silly  Life  291 

"My  love,  I  have  told  you,  I  have  sworn — " 

"And  what  man  doesn't  swear  whenever  he  gets 
the  chance  ?"  cried  Madame.  "Why  did  I  ever  marry  ? 
Heu  miserum  me." 

"My  angel,  be  calm.     I  assure  you — " 

"Very  well  then,  declare  yourself,  Jupiter,  this 
minute,  or  I'll  declare  yourself  for  you !" 

"But,  my  love,  think  of  Sir  Tiglath!  I  dare  not 
declare  myself.  He  will  be  here  at  any  moment,  and 
he  has  sworn  to  kill  me,  if  I'm  not  an  American 
syndicate!" 

"Rubbish !" 

"But,  my—" 

"Rubbish !     That's  only  what  Mr.  Vivian  says." 

"Well,  but—" 

"Besides,  you  can  put  on  your  toga  virilibus  and 
knock  him  down.  It's  no  use  talking  to  me,  Jupiter." 

"I  know  it  isn't,  my  darling,  I  know.     But — " 

"If  you  don't  declare  yourself  I  shall  declare  your- 
self for  you  this  very  moment.  I  will  not  endure  to 
be  left  in  the  corner  while  all  these  nobodies  are  being 
truckled  to.  Bernard  Wilkins,  indeed !  A  prophet  we 
wouldn't  so  much  as  recognise  to  be  a  prophet,  and 
that  there  Mrs.  Eliza — people  from  the  Wick  going 
down  to  supper  in  front  of  us,  and  a  man  from  the 
Butts  put  before  you !  It's  right  down  disgusting,  and 
I  won't  have  it." 

It  was  exactly  at  this  point  in  the  matrimonial  con- 
ference that  Lady  Enid  and  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  shaking 
themselves  free  of  Mrs.  Eliza  and  Verano,  bore  down 
upon  Mr.  and  Madame  Sagittarius,  who  were  so  busily 
engaged  in  disputation  that  they  did  not  perceive  that 


292    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

anyone  was  near  until  Lady  Enid  touched  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius upon  the  arm. 

That  gentleman  started  violently  and,  on  perceiving 
Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  who  was  positively  sputtering  with 
'wrath  at  the  palmistic  attentions  paid  to  him  by 
iVerano,  shrank  against  his  wife,  who  pushed  him 
.vigorously  from  her,  and,  getting  upon  her  feet,  an- 
nounced in  a  loud  voice, — 

"Very  well,  Jupiter,  since  you  won't  declare  yourself 
'I  shall  go  at  once  to  the  woman  Bridgeman  and  de- 
clare yourself  for  you !" 

And  with  this  remark  she  scowled  at  Lady  Enid  and 
walked  majestically  away,  tossing  her  head  vehemently 
at  Mrs.  Eliza  and  Verano  as  she  swept  into  the  adjoin- 
ing drawing-room. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Lady  Enid,  with  great  curiosity. 
"Dear  me,  Mr.  Sagittarius,  is  your  wife  going  to  make 
a  declaration?  This  is  most  interesting!" 

And,  moved  by  her  besetting  idiosyncrasy,  she  added 
to  the  astronomer,  "Excuse  me,  Sir  Tiglath,  "I'll  be 
back  in  one  moment !"  and  glided  swiftly  away  in  the 
wake  of  Madame,  leaving  Mr.  Sagittarius  and  his 
deadliest  foe  tete-a-tete. 

"Is  this  a  madhouse,  sir?"  cried  Sir  Tiglath,  on  be- 
ing thus  abandoned.  "The  old  astronomer  demands 
to  know  at  once  if  one  is,  or  is  not,  in  a  vast  mad- 
house?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Sagittarius. 
"I  should  not  like  to  express  an  opinion  on  the  point. 
If  you  will  excu — " 

"Sir,  the  old  astronomer  will  not  excuse  you," 
roared  Sir  Tiglath,  forcibly  preventing  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius, who  was  pale  as  ashes,  from  escaping  into  the 


The  Silly  Life  293 

farther  room.     "He  will  not  be  run  away  from  by 
everybody  in  this  manner." 

.  "I  beg  pardon,  sir,  I  had  no  intention  of  running 
away,"  said  Mr.  Sagittarius,  making  one  last  despair- 
ing effort  to  assume  his  toga  virilibus. 
:  "Then  why  did  you  do  it,  sir?  Tell  the  old  astrono- 
mer that !"  cried  Sir  Tiglath,  seizing  him  by  the  arm. 
"And  tell  him,  moreover,  what  you  and  the  old  female 
Bridgeman  have  been  about  together  ?" 

"Nothing,  sir;  I  swear  that  Mrs.  Bridgeman  and 
myself  have  never — " 

"Never  made  investigations  into  the  possibility 
of  there  being  oxygen  in  many  of  the  holy  stars  ?  Do 
you  affirm  that,  sir?" 

"I  do!"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "I  am  an  outside 
broker." 

"Do  you  affirm  that  you  are  no  astronomer,  sir? 
Do  you  declare  that  you  are  not  a  man  of  science?" 

"I  do!     I  do!" 

"Not  an  astronomer  of  remarkable  attainments,  but 
very  modest  and  retiring  withal  ?  Oh-h-h !" 

"Modest  and  retiring,  sir?"  cried  Mr.  Sagittarius, 
suddenly  illumined  by  a  ray  of  hope.  "That's  just  it ! 
I  am  a  modest  and  retiring  outside  broker,  sir." 

And  he  violently  endeavoured  to  prove  the  truth  of 
his  words  by  escaping  forthwith  into  obscurity. 

"There  never  was  a  modest  and  retiring  outside 
broker!"  bellowed  Sir  Tiglath.  "There  never  was, 
and  there  never  will  be.  The  old — " 

"What's  that?"  interrupted  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "What- 
ever's  that  ?" 

For  at  this  moment  an  extraordinary  hum  of  voices 
made  itself  audible  above  the  fifty  guitars,  and  a  noise 


294    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square    , 

of  many  feet  trampling  eagerly  upon  Mrs.  Bridgeman's 
parquet  grew  louder  and  louder  in  the  brilliant  rooms. 
Attracted  by  the  uproar,  Sir  Tiglath  paused  for  a 
moment,  still  keeping  his  hand  upon  the  lapel  of  Mr. 
Ferdinand's  coat,  however.  The  noise  increased.  It 
was  evident  that  a  multitude  of  people  was  rapidly 
approaching.  Words  uttered  by  the  moving  guests, 
exclamations,  and  ejaculations  of  excitement  now  de- 
tached themselves  from  the  general  murmur. 

"The  Prophet  from  the  Mouse !" 

"The  great  Malkiel  here !" 

"The  founder  of  the  almanac !" 

"The  greatest  Prophet  of  the  age !" 

"Malkiel  the  Second  from  the  Mouse !" 

"Where  is  Malkiel?" 

"We  must  find  Malkiel!" 

"We  must  see  Malkiel !" 

"Is  it  really  Malkiel?" 

"Oh,  is  it  the  Malkiel  ?    Where— where  is  Malkiel  ?" 

Such  cries  as  these  broke  upon  the  ears  of  the 
astronomer  and  Mr.  Sagittarius. 

Sir  Tiglath  grew  purple. 

"Malkiel  who  has  insulted  the  holy  stars  here!" 
he  roared,  letting  go  of  Mr.  Sagittarius.  "Where — 
where  is  he?" 

"In  there,  sir,  I  verily  believe!"  cried  Mr.  Sagit- 
tarius, pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  crowd  with  a 
hand  that  shook  like  all  the  leaves  in  Vallombrosa. 

"Let  me  find  him!"  shouted  the  astronomer.  "Let 
me  only  discover  him!  I'll  break  every  bone  in  his 
accursed  body." 

And  with  this  rather  bald  statement  he  rolled  out  of 
the  room  in  one  direction,  while  Mr.  Sagittarius,  with- 


The  Silly  Life  295 

out  more  ado,  cast  aside  his  toga  virilibus  and  darted 
out  of  it  into  another,  just  as  Madame  escorted  by  Mrs. 
Bridgeman,  Lady  Enid,  the  great  Towle  and  the  whole 
of  the  company  assembled  at  Zoological  House,  ap- 
peared majestically — and  proceeding  as  an  Empress — 
in  the  aperture  of  the  main  doorway. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MRS.    MERILLIA    HEATS   THE    POKER 

WHEN  Mr.  Sagittarius,  running  at  his  fullest  speed, 
emerged  from  Zoological  House,  wearing  the  hat  and 
coat  that  the  saturnine  little  clergyman  had  left  hehind 
him,  the  night  was  damp  and  gusty.  As  he  hastened 
down  the  drive,  and  the  sound  of  twenty  guitars, 
playing  "Oh  would  I  were  a  Spaniard  among  yon 
lemon  groves!"  died  away  in  the  lighted  mansion  be- 
hind him,  he  heard  the  roaring  of  the  beasts  in  the 
gardens  close  by.  In  the  wet  darkness  it  sounded 
peculiarly  terrific.  He  shuddered,  and,  holding  up 
Mr.  Ferdinand's  trousers  with  both  hands,  hurried  on- 
ward through  the  mire,  whither  he  knew  not.  His 
only  thought  was  that  all  was  now  discovered  and  that 
his  life  was  in  danger.  A  woman's  vanity  had  wrecked 
his  future.  He  must  hide  somewhere  for  the  night, 
and  get  away  in  the  morning,  perhaps  on  board  some 
tramp  steamer  bound  for  Buenos  Ayres,  or  on  a  junk 
weighing  anchor  for  Hayti  or  Java,  or  some  other  dis- 
tant place.  Vague  memories  of  books  he  had  read 
when  a  boy  came  back  to  him  as  he  ran  through  the 
unkempt  wilds  of  the  Regent's  Park.  Ke  saw  himself 
a  stowaway  hidden  in  a  hold,  alone  with  rats  and  ships' 
biscuits.  He  saw  himself  working  his  way  out  before 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker      297 

the  mast,  sent  aloft  in  hurricanes  on  pitch-black  nights, 
or  turning  the  wheel  the  wrong  way  round  and  bring- 
ing the  ship  to  wreck  upon  iron-bound  coasts  swarm- 
ing with  sharks  and  savages.  The  lions  roared  again, 
and  the  black  panthers  snarled  behind  their  prison 
bars.  He  thought  of  the  peaceful  waters  of  the  river 
Mouse,  of  the  library  of  Madame,  of  the  happy  little 
circle  of  architects  and  their  wives,  of  all  that  he  must 
leave. 

What  wonder  if  he  dropped  a  tear  into  the  muddy 
road?  What  wonder  if  a  sob  rent  the  bosom  of  Mr. 
Ferdinand's  now  disordered  shirt  front?  On  and  on 
Mr.  Sagittarius — or  Malkiel  the  Second,  as  he  may 
from  henceforth  be  called — went  blindly,  on  and  on 
till  the  Park  was  left  behind,  till  crescents  gave 
way  to  squares,  and  squares  to  streets.  He  passed  an 
occasional  policeman  and  slunk  away  from  the  pene- 
trating bull's-eye.  He  heard  now  and  then  the  far-off 
rattle  of  a  cab,  the  shrill  cry  of  a  whistle,  the  howl  of 
a  butler  summoning  a  vehicle,  the  coo  of  a  cook  bid- 
ding good-night  to  the  young  tradesman  whom  she 
loved  before  the  area  gate.  And  all  these  familiar 
London  sounds  struck  strangely  on  his  ear.  When 
would  he  hear  them  again?  Perhaps  never.  He 
stumbled  on  blinded  with  emotion. 

Dogs,  we  know,  are  guided  by  a  strange  instinct  to 
find  their  homes  even  by  unfamiliar  paths.  Pigeons 
will  fly  across  wide  spaces  and  drop  down  to  the  wicker 
cage  that  awaits  them.  And  it  would  appear  that 
prophets  are  not  without  a  certain  faculty  that  may  be 
called  topographical.  For  how  else  can  the  following 
fact  be  explained?  Malkiel  the  Second,  after  ap- 
parently endless  wandering,  found  himself  totally  un- 


298     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

able  to  proceed  further.  His  legs  gave  way  beneath 
him.  His  breath  failed.  His  brain  swam.  He  reeled, 
stretched  forth  his  hands  and  clutched  at  the  nearest 
support.  This  chanced  to  be  a  railing,  wet,  slimy, 
cold.  He  grasped  it,  leaned  against  it,  and  for  a  few 
moments  remained  where  he  was  in  a  sort  of  trance. 
Then,  gradually,  full  consciousness  returned.  He 
glanced  up  and  beheld  the  black  garden  of  a  square. 
Somehow  it  looked  familiar.  He  seemed  to  know 
those  shadowy,  leafless  trees,  the  roadway  between  him 
and  them,  even  the  pavement  upon  which  his  boots — 
his  own  boots — were  set.  His  lack-lustre  eyes  travelled 
to  the  houses  that  bordered  the  square,  then  to  the 
house  against  whose  area  railings  he  was  leaning,  and 
he  started  with  amazement.  For  he  was  in  Berkeley 
Square,  leaning  against  the  railing  of  number  one 
thousand.  He  gazed  up  at  the  windows.  One  or  two 
faint  lights  twinkled.  Then  perhaps  the  household  had 
not  yet  retired  for  the  night.  An  idea  seized  him. 
He  must  rest.  He  must  snatch  a  brief  interval  of  re- 
pose, before  starting  for  the  docks  at  dawn  to  find  a 
ship  in  whose  hold  he  could  seek  seclusion,  till  the 
great  seas  roared  round  her,  and  he  could  declare 
himself  to  the  captain  and  crew  without  fear  of  being 
put  ashore.  Why  not  rest  here  in  number  one 
thousand?  True,  the  Prophet  would  presently  be  re- 
turning possibly  with  Madame,  but  he  would  bribe  Mr. 
Ferdinand  not  to  mention  his  whereabouts.  It  was  no 
doubt  a  very  rash  proceeding,  but  he  was  utterly 
exhausted,  he  felt  that  he  could  go  no  further,  he 
found  himself  before  an  almost  friendly  door.  What 
wonder  then  if  he  tottered  up  the  steps  and  tapped 
feebly  upon  it?  There  was  no  answer.  He  tapped 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker     299 

again  more  loudly.  This  time  his  summons  was 
heard.  Steps  approached.  There  was  a  moment's 
pause.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  Gustavus  appeared 
looking  rather  sleepy,  but  still  decidedly  intellectual. 
Malkiel  the  Second  pulled  himself  together  and  faced 
the  footman  boldly. 

"You  know  me  ?"  he  said. 

Gustavus  examined  him  closely. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied  at  length.  "By  the  clothes. 
I  should  know  Mr.  Ferdinand's  trouserings  among  a 
thousand." 

Malkiel  the  Second  realised  that  emotion  probably 
rendered  his  face  unrecognisable.  But  at  least  his  legs 
spoke  for  him.  That  was  something,  and  he  continued, 
with  an  attempt  at  ease  and  boldness, — 

"Right !     I  have  returned  to  change  them." 

"Yes,  sir.     Mr.  Ferdinand  has  retired  to  bed,  sir." 

"Don't  wake  him.     I  can  just  leave  them  for  him." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

And  Gustavus  admitted  Malkiel  to  the  dimly-lit  hall 
and  shut  the  door  softly. 

"What  is  your  name,  young  man?"  said  Malkiel, 
whispering. 

"Gustavus,  sir." 

"Ah!  Gustavus,  would  you  like  to  earn  a  hundred 
pounds  to-night  ?" 

Gustavus  started. 

"I  don't  say  as  how  I'd  rather  not,  sir,"  he  replied. 
"I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that." 

"Right!  Do  as  I  tell  you  and  you  will  earn  a 
hundred  pounds." 

The  footman's  eyes  began  to  glow,  almost  like  a 
cat's  in  the  twilight. 


300    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Why,  I  could  buy  the  library  near  twelve  times 
over,"  he  murmured. 

"The  library?"  said  Malkiel,  whose  brain  had  sud- 
denly become  strangely  clear. 

"Ah,  sir — Dr.  Carter's,"  returned  Gustavus,  begin- 
ning to  tremble. 

"Dr.  Carter's !"  whispered  Malkiel,  excitedly.  "I 
should  think  so.  Eight  guineas  and  a  half,  and  you 
pay  in  instalments." 

"I'll  do  it,  sir,"  hissed  Gustavus,  utterly  carried 
away  by  the  prospect.  "What  d'you  want  me  to  do?" 

"First  to  let  me  change  my  clothes  quickly,  then  to 
hide  me  somewhere  so  as  I  can  get  a  sleep  till  dawn. 
Call  me  directly  it  begins  to  get  light  and  I  shall  be  off 
to  the  docks." 

"The  docks,  sir?" 

"Ay.     I  start  for — for  Java  to-morrow." 

"Java,  sir — what,  where  the  sparrows  and  the 
jelly-" 

"Ay,  ay,"  returned  Malkiel,  secretly  rehearsing  his 
new  nautical  role. 

"I'll  do  it  sir.     And  the  hundred  ?" 

"I'll  write  you  an  order  on  my  banker's.  You  can 
trust  me.  Now  let  me  change  my  clothes.  Quick!" 

"They're  in  Mr.  Vivian's  bedroom,  ain't  they?" 

Malkiel  nodded. 

"You  must  go  very  soft,  sir,  because  of  the  old  lady. 
She's  abed,  but  she  might  be  wakeful,  specially  to- 
night. She's  been  awful  upset.  My  word,  she  has !" 

"I'll  go  as  soft  as  a  mouse,"  whispered  Malkiel. 
"Show  me  the  way." 

Gustavus  advanced  on  tiptoe  towards  the  stair- 
case, followed  by  Malkiel,,  who  held  Mr.  Ferdinand's 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker     301 

clothes  together  lest  they  should  rustle,  and  proceeded 
with  the  most  infinite  precaution.  In  this  manner  they 
gained  the  second  floor  and  neared  the  bedroom  door 
of  Mrs.  Merillia.  Here  Gustavus  turned  round, 
pointed  to  the  door,  and  put  his  finger  to  his  pouting 
lips,  at  the  same  time  rounding  his  hazel  eyes  and 
shaking  his  powdered  head  in  a  most  warning  manner. 
Malkiel  nodded,  held  Mr.  Ferdinand's  clothes  tighter, 
and  stole  on,  as  he  thought,  without  making  a  sound. 
What  was  his  horror,  then,  just  as  he  was  passing  Mrs. 
Merillia's  door,  to  hear  a  voice  cry, — 

"Hennessey !     Hennessey !" 

Gustavus  and  Malkiel  stopped  dead,  as  if  they  had 
both  been  shot.  They  now  perceived  that  the  door 
was  partially  open,  and  that  a  faint  light  shone  within 
the  room. 

"Hennessey !"  cried  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Merillia  again. 
"Come  in  here.  I  must  speak  to  you." 

Gustavus  darted  on  into  the  darkness  of  the 
Prophet's  room,  but  Malkiel  the  Second  was  so 
alarmed  that  he  stayed  where  he  was,  finding  himself 
totally  incapable  of  movement. 

"Hennessey!"  repeated  the  voice. 

Then  there  was  a  faint  rustling,  the  door  was  opened 
more  widely,  and  Mrs.  Merillia  appeared  in  the  aper- 
ture, clad  in  a  most  charming  night  bonnet,  and  robed 
in  a  dressing-gown  of  white  watered  silk. 

"The  ratcatcher!"  she  cried.     "The  ratcatcher!" 

Malkiel  turned  and  darted  down  the  stairs,  while 
Mrs.  Merillia,  in  the  extreme  of  terror,  shut  her  door, 
locked  it  as  many  times  as  she  could,  and  then  hastened 
trembling  to  the  bell  which  communicated  with  the 
faithful  Mrs.  Fancy,  rang  it,  and  dropped  half  fainting 


302    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

into  a  chair.  Mrs.  Fancy  woke  from  her  second  dream 
just  as  Malkiel,  closely  followed  by  the  now  shattered 
Gustavus,  reached  the  hall. 

"Hide  me!"  Hide  me!"  whispered  Malkiel.  "In 
here!" 

And  he  darted  into  the  servants'  quarters,  leaving 
Gustavus  on  the  mat.  Mrs.  Merillia's  other  bell  now 
pealed  shrilly  downstairs.  Gustavus  paused  and  pulled 
himself  together.  He  was  by  nature  a  fairly  intrepid 
youth,  and,  moreover,  he  had  recently  made  a  close 
study  of  Carlyle's  Heroes  and  Hero-worship,  which 
had  greatly  impressed  him.  He  therefore  resolved  in 
this  moment  of  peril  to  acquit  himself  as  Napoleon 
might  have  acquitted  himself  in  similiar  circumstances, 
and  he  remounted  the  stairs  and  reached  Mrs.  Meril- 
lia's door  just  as  Mrs.  Fancy,  wrapped  in  a  woollen 
shawl  and  wearing  a  pair  of  knitted  night-socks, 
descended  to  the  landing,  candle  in  hand. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gustavus!"  said  Mrs.  Fancy.  "Is  it  the 
robbers  again  ?  Is  it  murder,  Mr.  Gustavus  ?  Is  it 
fire?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Fancy,  I'll  ask  the  mistress." 

He  tapped  upon  the  door. 

"You  can't  come  in !"  cried  poor  Mrs.  Merillia,  who 
was  losing  her  head  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  "You  can't  come  in,  and  if  you  do  I  shall  give 
you  in  charge  to  the  police." 

And  she  rang  both  her  bells  again. 

"Ma'am!"  said  Gustavus,  knocking  once  more. 
"Ma'am!" 

"It's  no  use  your  knocking,"  returned  Mrs.  Merillia. 
"The  door  is  bolted.  Go  away,  go  away !" 

And  again  she  rang  her  two  bells. 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker      303 

"Madam!"  piped  Mrs.  Fancy.     "Madam!    It's  me!" 

"I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia.  "I  know  it's  you !  I 
saw  you!  Leave  the  house  unless  you  wish  to  be  at 
once  put  in  prison." 

Her  bells  pealed.     Mrs.  Fancy  began  to  sob. 

"Me  to  leave  the  house !"  she  wailed.  "Me  to  go  to 
prison !" 

"Bear  up,  Mrs.  Fancy,  she  doesn't  know  who  it  is !" 
said  Gustavus.  "Ma'am!  Ma'am!  Missis!  Missis!" 

"I  am  ringing,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia,  in  a  muffled 
manner  through  the  door.  "I  am  summoning  assist- 
ance !  You  will  be  captured  if  you  don't  go  away." 

And  again  she  pealed  her  bells.  This  time,  as  she 
did  so,  the  tingling  of  a  third  bell  became  audible  in 
the  silent  house. 

"Lord !"  cried  Gustavus,  "if  there  isn't  the  hall  door. 
It  must  be  master.  He  left  his  key  to-night.  Here's 
a  nice  go !" 

The  three  bells  raised  their  piercing  chorus.  Mrs. 
Fancy  sobbed,  and  Gustavus,  after  a  terrible  moment 
of  hesitation,  bounded  down  into  the  hall.  His 
instinct  had  not  played  him  false.  The  person  who 
had  rung  the  bell  was  indeed  the  Prophet,  who  had 
basely  slunk  away  from  Zoological  House,  leaving 
Madame  surrounded  by  her  new  and  adoring  friends. 

"Thank  you,  Gustavus,"  he  said,  entering.  "Take 
my  coat,  please.  What's  that  ?" 

For  Mrs.  Merillia's  bells  struck  shrilly  upon  his 
astonished  ears. 

"I  think  it's  Mrs.  Merillia,  sir.  She  keeps  on 
ringing." 

"Mrs.  Merillia.  At  this  hour!  Heavens!  Is  she 
ill?" 


304    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  She  keeps  ringing;  but  when  I 
answer  it  she  says,  'Go  away!'  she  says.  'Go — '  she 
says,  sir." 

"How  very  strange !" 

And  the  Prophet  bounded  upstairs  and  arrived  at 
his  grandmother's  door  just  in  time  to  hear  her  cry  out, 
in  reply  to  poor  Mrs.  Fancy's  distracted  knocking, — 

"If  you  try  to  break  in  you  will  be  put  in  prison  at 
once.  I  hear  assistance  coming.  I  hear  the  police.  Go 
away,  you  wicked,  wicked  man !" 

"Grannie!"  cried  the  Prophet  through  the  keyhole. 
"Grannie,  let  me  in!  Grannie!  Grannie!  Don't 
ring!  Grannie!  Grannie!" 

But  Mrs.  Merillia  was  now  completely  out  of  herself, 
and  her  only  response  to  her  grandson's  appeal  was  to 
place  her  trembling  fingers  upon  the  two  bells,  and  to 
reply,  through  their  uproar, — 

"It  is  useless  for  you  to  say  that.  I  know  who  you 
are.  I  saw  you.  I  shall  go  on  ringing  as  long  as  I 
can  stand.  I  shall  die  ringing,  but  I  shall  never  let 
you  in.  Go  away !  Go  away !" 

"What  does  she  mean?"  cried  the  Prophet,  turning 
to  Gustavus. 

"I  don't  know  indeed,  sir,"  replied  the  footman, 
thinking  of  Dr.  Carter's  library.  "I  couldn't  say 
indeed,  sir." 

"Oh,  my  poor  missis!"  wailed  Mrs.  Fancy, 
trembling  in  her  night-socks.  "Oh,  my  poor  dear 
missis !  I  can't  speak  different  nor  mean  other.  Oh, 
missis,  missis !" 

"Hush,  Fancy!"  said  the  Prophet,  in  the  greatest 
distraction.     "Grannie !     Grannie !" 
.    And  seizing  the  handle  of  the  door  he  shook  it 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker      305 

violently.  Mrs.  Merillia  was  now  very  naturally  under 
the  impression  that  the  ratcatcher  was  determined  to 
break  in  and  murder  her  without  more  ado.  Extreme 
danger  often  seems  to  exercise  a  strangely  calming  in- 
fluence upon  the  human  soul.  So  it  was  now.  Upon 
hearing  her  bedroom  door  quivering  under  the  assault 
of  the  Prophet,  Mrs.  Merillia  was  abruptly  invaded  by 
a  sort  of  desperate  courage.  She  left  the  bells,  tottered 
to  the  grate  in  which  a  good  fire  was  blazing,  seized 
the  poker  and  thrust  it  between  the  bars  into  the  heart 
of  the  flames,  at  the  same  time  crying  out  in  a  quaver- 
ing but  determined  voice, — 

"I  am  heating  the  poker!  If  you  come  In  you  will 
repent  it.  I  am  heating  the  poker !" 

On  hearing  this  remark,  the  Prophet  desisted  from 
his  assault  upon  the  door,  overcome  by  the  absolute 
conviction  that  his  beloved  grandmother  was  suffering 
from  a  pronounced  form  of  homicidal  mania.  His 
affection  prompted  him  to  keep  such  a  catastrophe 
secret  as  long  as  possible,  and  he  therefore  turned  to 
Mrs.  Fancy  and  Gustavus,  and  said  hurriedly, — 

'-This  is  a  matter  for  me  alone.  Mrs.  Fancy,  please 
go  away  at  once.  Gustavus,  you  will  accompany  Mrs. 
Fancy." 

His  manner  was  so  firm,  his  face  so  iron  in  its  de- 
termination, that  Mrs.  Fancy  and  Gustavus  dared  not 
proffer  a  word.  They  turned  away  and  disappeared 
softly  down  the  stairs,  to  wait  the  denouement  of  this 
tragedy  in  the  hall  below.  Meantime  the  poker  was 
growing  red  hot  in  the  coals,  and  Mrs.  Merillia  an- 
nounced to  the  supposed  ratcatcher, — 

"I  can  hear  you — I  hear  you  breathing — "  (the 
Prophet  endeavoured  not  to  breathe).  "I  hear  you 


306     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

rustling,  but  you  can't  touch  me.     The  poker  is  red 
hot." 

And  she  drew  it  smoking  from  the  grate  and  ap- 
proached the  door,  holding  it  in  her  delicate  hand  like 
a  weapon. 

.  "Grannie!"  said  the  Prophet,  making  his  voice  as 
much  like  it  generally  was  as  he  possibly  could. 
"Dearest  grannie !" 

"I  dare  you  to  come  in !"  replied  Mrs.  Merillia,  in 
an  almost  formidable  manner.  "I  dare  you  to  do  it." 

"I  am  not  coming  in,  grannie,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"Then  go  away !"  said  Mrs.  Merillia.  "Go  away — 
and  let  me  hear  you  going." 

A  sudden  idea  struck  the  Prophet.  He  did  not  say 
another  word,  but  immediately  walked  downstairs, 
tramping  heavily  and  shaking  the  wooden  balusters 
violently  at  every  step  he  took.  His  ruse  succeeded. 
Hearing  the  intruder  depart,  Mrs.  Merillia's  curious 
courage  deserted  her,  she  dropped  the  poker  into  the 
grate,  and  once  more  set  both  bells  going  with  all  her 
might  and  main.  The  Prophet  let  her  ring  for  nearly 
five  minutes,  then  he  bounded  once  more  upstairs  and 
tapped  very  gently  on  the  door. 

"Grannie,"  he  cried,  "are  you  ringing?  What 
is  it?" 

This  time  Mrs.  Merillia  recognised  his  voice,  tottered 
to  the  door,  unlocked  it,  and  fell,  trembling,  into  his 
anxious  arms. 

"Oh,  Hennessey !"  she  gasped.     "Oh — Hennessey !" 

"Grannie,  what  is  it?    What  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 

"The  ratcatcher !     The  ratcatcher !" 

"The  ratcatcher !"  cried  the  Prophet. 


Mrs.   Merillia  Heats  the  Poker      307 

"He  has  come  back.  He  is  here.  He  has  been 
trying  to  break  into  my  room." 

"What  ratcatcher?" 

"The  one  that  dined  to-night — the  one  you  called 
your  old  and — and  valued — friend." 

"Mr.  Sagittarius?"  exclaimed  the  Prophet. 

"He  is  here." 

"Here!" 

"I  have  seen  him.     He  has  tried  to  murder  me." 

"I  will  look  into  this  at  once,"  said  the  Prophet. 

He  ran  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  called  out, — 

"Gustavus !" 

"Sir!" 

"Come  up  here  at  once." 

"Gustavus  came,  followed  closely  by  Mrs.  Fancy, 
who  was  in  a  state  of  abject  confusion  and  alarm. 

"Has  Mr.  Sagittarius  returned  here — the  gentleman 
who  dined  to-night?"  asked  the  Prophet. 

Gustavus  hesitated,  thought  of  Dr.  Carter's  library, 
and  replied, — 

"No,  sir." 

"Has  anybody  entered  the  house  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  have  been  up  the  whole  evening?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  nobody  has  been  ?" 

"Nobody,  sir." 

"Grannie,  you  hear  what  Gustavus  says." 

"But,  Hennessey,  he  is  here ;  I  saw  him." 

"Where?" 

"By  the  door.  I  heard  someone,  and  thought  it 
was  you.  I  came  to  the  door  after  calling  you,  and 


308     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

there  he  stood,  all  dirty  and  wet,  with  a  huge  hat  on 
his  head"  (the  saturnine  little  clergyman  was  largely 
blessed  with  brain),  "and  a  most  awful  murderous 
expression  on  his  face." 

The  Prophet  began  to  suspect  that  his  dear  relative, 
upset  by  the  tragic  events  of  the  dinner  table,  had 
gone  to  sleep  and  had  the  nightmare. 

"Grannie,  it  must  have  been  a  dream." 

"No,  Hennessey,  no." 

"It  must  indeed.  I  left  Mr.  Sagittarius  at  Zoo- 
logical House.  I  feel  certain  of  that." 

The  Prophet  spoke  the  honest  truth.  He  fully  be- 
lieved that  Mr.  Sagittarius  was  at  that  very  moment 
sharing  in  the  triumph  of  his  wife  and  receiving  the 
worship  of  those  who  live  the  silly  life. 

"But  I  saw  him,  Hennessey,"  said  Mrs.  Merillia, 
adding  rather  unnecessarily,  "with  my  own  eyes." 

"Grannie,  darling,  you  must  have  been  dreaming. 
At  any  rate,  I'm  here  now.  Nothing  can  hurt  you. 
Go  to  bed.  Fancy  will  stay  with  you,  and  I  swear 
to  you  that  no  harm  shall  happen  to  you  so  long  as  I 
am  breathing." 

With  these  noble  words  the  Prophet  kissed  his 
grandmother  tenderly,  assisted  Mrs.  Fancy  into  the 
room,  and  walked  downstairs  quite  determined  that, 
come  what  might,  whether  he  broke  a  thousand  oaths 
or  not,  he  would  put  an  end  forthwith  to  the  tyranny 
of  the  couple  from  the  Mouse  and  abandon  for  ever 
the  shocking  pursuit  of  prophecy. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   PROPHET  RETIRES   FROM    BUSINESS 

EXACTLY  as  the  Prophet  arrived  at  this  resolution 
the  hall  door  bell  rang  violently,  and  Gustavus,  who 
had  slipped  down  before  the  Prophet  in  order  to  seek 
the  traveller  to  Java  in  the  servants'  quarters,  hurried 
into  the  hall  in  rather  a  distracted  manner. 

"Stop,  Gustavus !"  said  the  Prophet. 

Gustavus  stopped.     The  bell  rang  again. 

"Gustavus,"  said  the  Prophet,  "if  that  is  a  visitor 
I  am  not  at  home.  Mrs.  Merillia  is  not  at  home 
either." 

It  was  by  this  time  between  one  and  two  in  the 
morning. 

"Not  at  home,  sir.    Yes,  sir." 

The  Prophet  concealed  himself  near  the  hat-rack, 
and  Gustavus  went  softly  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"Not  at  home,  ma'am,"  the  Prophet  heard  him  say, 
formally. 

"What  d'you  mean,  young  man?"  replied  the  pow- 
erful voice  of  Madame.  "Where  is  my  husband?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Where,  I  say,  is  my  husband  ?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  I'm  sure,  ma'am.  But  Mrs.  Merillia 
and  Mr.  Vivian  are  not  at  home." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is  they  ought  to  be  at  this  time 


310    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

of  night.  Permit  me  to  pass.  Are  you  aware  that 
Mr.  Vivian  has  invited  me  to  spend  the  night  here? 
Noctes  ambrosianes." 

"But,  ma'am,  Mr.  Viv— " 

"That'll  do.  If  I  have  any  more  of  your  imperti- 
nence I'll  make  you  repent  of  it.  You  are  evidently 
not  aware  who  I  am." 

The  Prophet,  by  the  hat-rack,  did  not  fail  to  hear  a 
new  note  in  the  deep  contralto  of  Madame,  a  note  of 
triumph,  a  trumpet  note  of  profound  conceit.  His 
heart  sank  before  this  determined  music,  and  it  sank 
even  lower  towards  his  pumps  when,  a  moment  later, 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  the  lady,  wrapped 
closely  in  the  rabbit-skins,  and  absolutely  bulging  with 
vanity  and  self-appreciation. 

"What !  Mr.  Vivian !"  began  the  lady. 

"Hush!"  said  the  Prophet,  "for  mercy's  sake — 
hush !" 

And,  acting  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  he 
suddenly  seized  Madame  by  the  hand,  and  hurried  her 
through  the  swing  door  into  the  servants'  hall. 

"Here's  a  go,"  murmured  Gustavus  in  the  greatest 
trepidation.  "If  they  don't  find  the  thin  party  I'm  a 
josser." 

Meanwhile  the  Prophet  and  Madame  were  standing 
face  to  face  before  the  what-not  of  Gustavus. 

"My  grandmother  is  awake — that  is  asleep,"  said 
the  Prophet.  "We  must  not  wake  her  on  any  account." 

"Oh,"  returned  Madame,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"your  grandmother  seems  to  be  a  very  fidgety  old  lady, 
I'm  sure — although  you  do  tell  a  parcel  of  lies  about 
her." 

"Lies !"  said  the  Prophet,  with  some  dignity. 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business     311 

"Yes — lies.     She  don't  wear  long  clothes — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon !" 

"She  do  not.  She  don't  wear  her  hair  down.  She 
don't  put  her  lips  to  the  bottle.  She  don't.  Where  is 
Mr.  Sagi — where  is  Malkiel  the  Second?" 

"I  have  no  idea.  And  now,  Madame,  I  regret  that 
I  must  conduct  you  to  your  carriage.  The  hour  is 
late,  my  grandmother  is  seriously  indisposed,  and  I 
myself  need  rest." 

"Well,  then,  you  can't  have  it,"  retorted  the  lady 
with  authoritative  spitefulness.  "You  can't  have  it, 
not  till  three  o'clock." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  the  Prophet,  with 
trembling  lips. 

"What  for?" 

"I  really  regret  that  I  must  retire.     Allow  me — " 

"I'll  not  allow  you.  Where  is  my  husband?  He's 
not  at  the  Zoological  Gardens." 

"He  has  probably  returned  home." 

"To  the  Mouse !  Then  he's  a  coward  and  an  oath- 
breaker,  and  if  Sir  Tiglath  was  to  catch  him  I  shouldn't 
be  sorry.  Kindly  lead  me  at  once  to  the  telescope. 
I  will  take  his  place.  No  one  shall  say  that  Madame 
Malkiel  ever  flinched  at  duty's  call.  Praesto  et  per- 
sistibus.  Conduct  me  at  once  to  the  telescope." 

"The  telescope!"  cried  the  Prophet.     "What  for?" 

"Lawks !"  cried  Madame,  with  pronounced  temper, 
"Did  we  not  journey  from  the  Mouse  a-purpose  to  go 
practically  into  the  mystery  of  the  dressed  Crab  ?" 

"I  really — I  really  cannot  consent  wthout  a  chap- 
eron," began  the  Prophet. 

"The  wife  of  Malkiel  the  Second  needs  no  chap- 
eron," retorted  Madame.  "This  night  has  altered  my 


3 1 2    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

condition — I  stand  from  henceforth  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  etiquette.  The  world  knows  me  now  and  will 
not  dare  to  carp."  Carpe  dies." 

During  the  foregoing  colloquy  her  voice  had  be- 
come louder  and  louder,  and  the  Prophet,  dreading 
unspeakably  lest  his  grandmother  should  be  disturbed 
and  affrighted  once  more,  gave  up  the  struggle,  and, 
without  more  ado,  conducted  Madame  into  the  butler's 
pantry  in  which  the  telescope  still  remained. 

Meanwhile  what  had  become  of  Malkiel  the  Second  ? 

When  Mrs.  Merillia  suddenly  appeared  before 
him  in  her  night-bonnet  and  accused  him  of  being  a 
ratcatcher  he  had  very  naturally  fled,  his  first  impulse 
being  to  leave  the  house  at  once  and  continue  his 
journey  to  the  docks.  But  even  a  prophet  is  but 
mortal.  Malkiel  had  passed  through  an  eventful  day 
followed  by  a  still  more  eventful  evening.  His 
mind  was  completely  exhausted.  Even  so,  how- 
ever, he  might  have  continued  upon  his  journey 
towards  Java  had  not  his  legs  prosaically  shown  signs 
of  giving  way  under  him  just  as  he  once  more  gained 
the  hall.  This  decided  him.  He  must  have  some  short 
repose  at  whatever  cost.  He  therefore  pushed  feebly 
at  the  nearest  door,  and  found  himself  promptly  in 
the  apartment  of  the  upper  servants.  Staggering  to 
the  what-not  of  Gustavus,  he  sank  down  upon  it  and 
fell  into  a  melancholy  reverie,  from  which  he  was  roused 
by  the  constant  tingling  cry  of  Mrs.  Merillia's  second 
bell,  which  rang  close  to  where  he  was  reposing.  He 
tried  to  start  up,  but  failed,  and  it  was  only  when  the 
hall  door  bell,  attacked  by  the  Prophet,  added  its  voice 
to  its  companion's  that  his  terror  lent  him  sufficient 
strength  to  flee  very  slowly  into  the  inner  fastnesses  of 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      3  i  3 

this  unknown  region.  There  was  a  light  in  the  ser- 
vants' hall,  but  darkness  lay  beyond,  and  Malkiel  knew 
not  whither  he  was  penetrating.  He  barked  his  shins, 
but  could  not  tell  against  what  hard  substance.  He 
bruised  his  elbow,  but  could  not  know  what  piece  of 
furniture  had  assailed  it.  On  coming  in  contact  with 
a  dresser  he  saw  a  few  sparks,  but  they  speedily  died 
out,  and  he  was  obliged  to  feel  his  way  onward,  till 
presently  he  came  across  a  large  leather  chair  in  which 
Mrs.  Merillia's  cook  was  wont  to  sit  while  directing 
her  subordinates  at  the  basting  machine.  Into  this 
he  sank  palpitating,  and  for  a  moment  remained  undis- 
turbed. Then,  to  his  horror,  he  heard  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room  the  strident  voice  of  his  loved  and  honoured 
wife  apparently  carrying  on  a  decidedly  vivacious  argu- 
ment with  some  person  unknown.  He  bounded  up. 
Possibly  she  was  accompanied  by  Sir  Tiglath,who  must 
now  be  aware  of  his  identity.  In  any  case,  her  wrath 
at  his  scarcely  chivalrous  desertion  of  her  in  the  house 
of  a  stranger  would,  he  knew,  be  terrible.  He  dared 
not  face  it.  He  dared  not  allow  his  project  of  flight 
at  dawn  to  be  interfered  with,  as  it  certainly  would  be 
if  he  came  across  Madame.  He  therefore  proceeded 
to  flee  once  more.  Nor  did  he  pause  until  he  had 
gained  Mr.  Ferdinand's  pantry,  where  stood  the  tele- 
scope. Now,  in  this  pantry  there  was  a  large  cupboard 
in  which  were  kept  the  very  numerous  and  magnificent 
pieces  of  plate,  etc.,  possessed  by  Mrs.  Merillia;  tall 
silver  candelabra,  standard  lamps  of  polished  bronze, 
richly-chased  cups,  gigantic  vases  for  containing 
flowers,  oriental  incense  holders  upon  stands  of  ebony, 
Spanish  charcoal  dishes  of  burnished  brass,  and  other 
treasures  far  too  numerous  to  mention.  This  cupboard 


314    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

was  always  carefully  locked  at  night,  but  on  this  occa- 
sion Mr.  Ferdinand,  totally  disorganised  by  the  fright- 
ful scenes  which  had  taken  place  at  his  dinner  table 
during  the  evening,  had  retired  to  bed  in  a  condition 
of  collapse,  leaving  it  open.  Malkiel  the  Second,  feel- 
ing frantically  about  in  the  dark,  came  upon  the  door 
of  this  cupboard,  pulled  it,  found  that  it  yielded  to  his 
hand,  and,  hearing  the  rapidly  approaching  voices  of 
Madame  and  the  Prophet,  stumbled  into  the  cup- 
board and  sank  down  on  a  large  gold  loving-cup, 
with  one  foot  in  a  silver  soup  tureen,  and  the  other  in 
a  priceless  sugar  basin,  just  as  the  light  of  the  candle 
borne  by  the  Prophet  glimmered  in  the  darkness  of 
the  adjacent  corridor. 

"This  way,  Madame,"  said  the  Prophet.  "But  I 
really  think  such  a  proceeding  is  calculated  to  cause 
a  grave  scandal  in  the  square." 

Malkiel  the  Second  drew  the  cupboard  door  to,  and 
grasped  a  silver  candelabrum  in  each  hand  to  sustain 
himself  upon  the  rather  sharp  rim  of  the  loving-cup. 

"What  is  the  square  to  me  or  I  to  the  square?" 
returned  Madame  with  ungrammatical  majesty. 
"Madame  Malkiel  is  not  governed  by  any  ordinary 
laws.  Lexes  non  scripta  is  her  motto.  To  these  alone 
she  clings." 

Her  husband  clung  to  the  candelabra  and  burst  into 
a  violent  perspiration.  Through  the  keyhole  of  the 
cupboard  a  ray  of  light  now  shone,  and  he  heard  the 
frou-frou  of  his  partner's  skirt,  the  flump  of  the  rabbit- 
skins  as  she  cast  them  from  her  ample  shoulders  upon 
the  floor.  The  Prophet's  voice  became  audible  again. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?"  he  said,  with  a  sort 
of  embittered  courtesy. 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      3  1 5 

"Throw  open  the  window,  place  yourself  before  the 
telescope,  and  proceed  at  once  to  your  investigations," 
replied  the  lady. 

"I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  investigate,"  said  the 
Prophet.  "I  am  not  indeed.  If  you  will  only  let  me 
get  you  a  cab,  to-morrow  night — " 

"It  is  useless  to  talk,  Mr.  Vivian,"  said  Madame, 
very  sharply.  "The  cab  has  not  yet  been  made  that 
will  convey  me  to  the  Mouse  to-night." 

"But  your  husband — " 

"My  husband  is  a  coward,  unworthy  of  such  a  wife 
as  he  possesses.  At  the  crisis  of  our  fortunes — What's 
that?" 

At  this  painful  moment  Malkiel  the  Second  was  so 
overcome  by  emotion,  that  he  trembled,  and  allowed 
his  left  foot  to  rattle  slightly  on  the  sugar  basin. 

"What  was  it  ?"  repeated  Madame. 

"Rats,  I  have  no  doubt,"  answered  the  Prophet,  who 
had  heard  nothing.  "I  believe  that  the  basements  of 
these  old  houses  are  simply — well — simply  permeated 
with  rats." 

For  a  moment  Madame  blanched,  but  she  was  a 
woman  of  spirit,  and  moreover  she  was  almost  intoxi- 
cated with  ambition.  Recognised  at  last  as  a  lady  of 
position  and  importance  in  one  of  the  mansions  of  the 
idiotic  great,  she  was  more  anxious  than  ever  to  remove 
forthwith  into  the  central  districts,  there  to  exercise 
that  sway  which  she  had  so  long  desired.  Finding  that 
there  exists  a  world  in  which  prophets — far  from 
being  considered  as  dirty  and  deceitful  persons — are 
worshipped  and  adored,  entertained  with  Pommery  and 
treated  almost  as  gods,  she  yearned  to  dwell  in  the 
midst  of  it.  The  peaceful  seclusion  of  the  Mouse  was 


316  -The. Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

become  hateful  to  her.  The  architects  and  their  wives 
began  to  seem  to  her  uplifted  fancy  little  better  than 
the  circle  that  frequented  Hagglin's  Buildings,  or  ap- 
peared at  the  paltry  entertainments  given  by  the  in- 
habitants of  Drakeman's  Villas.  She  was  resolved  to 
soar,  and  even  rats  should  not  turn  her  from  her  pas- 
sionate purpose.  Accordingly  she  replied, — 

"Rats  or  no  rats,  I  intend  to  see  this  matter  out. 
Dixisti!  The  night  wanes.  Kindly  go  at  once  to  the 
telescope." 

The  Prophet  obeyed,  first  opening  the  window  into 
the  area.  The  rain  had  now  cleared  off,  but  the  sky 
was  still  rather  cloudy,  and  only  a  few  stars  peeped 
here  and  there. 

"Really,"  said  the  Prophet,  ifter  applying  his  weary 
eye  to  the  machine,  "really  I  don  i  iNnk  it's  any  good, 
there  are  so  very — " 

"Have  the  goodness  to  place  the  old  lady  in  the 
claws  of  the  Crab,  according  to  the  directions  of  the 
coward  who  has  deserted  me." 

Malkiel  shook  with  shame  upon  the  loving-cup. 

"But  I  really  can't  find  the  Crab,"  said  the  Prophet, 
who  was  so  tired  that  he  could  scarcely  stand.  "I 
can  see  the  Great  Bear." 

"That  is  no  use.  The  Bear  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  old  lady.  You  must  find  the  Crab.  Look  again." 

The  Prophet  did  so.  But  his  eye  blinked  with 
fatigue  and  the  heavens  swam  before  it. 

"There  is  no  Crab  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  assure 
you  on  my  honour  there  is  none." 

Exactly  as  he  finished  making  this  statement  a  low 
whistle  rang  through  the  silence  of  the  night.  The 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business     317 

Prophet  started,  Madame  jumped,  and  Malkiel 
bounded  on  the  loving-cup. 

The  whistle  was  repeated. 

"It's  the  thing !"  whispered  the  Prophet. 

"What  thing?"  inquired  Madame,  who  had  become 
rather  pale. 

"The  dark  thing  that  told  me  the  Crab  was  dressed. 
It  has  come  again." 

"My  word!"  ejaculated  Madame,  looking  uneasily 
around.  "Where  is  it  ?" 

Just  then  Malkiel  the  Second's  feet  once  more  began 
to  tremble  among  the  plate  of  Mrs.  Merillia. 

"You  hear  it !"  said  the  Prophet,  much  impressed. 

"Did  it  rattle  like  that  the  other  night?"  gasped 
Madame,  seizing  the  Prophet  by  the  arm. 

The  Prophet  told  a  lie  with  his  head. 

"Address  it,  I  beg,"  said  Madame,  in  a  great  state  of 
excitement.  Meanwhile  I  will  retire  a  few  paces." 

So  saying,  she  backed  into  the  passage,  bearing  the 
candle  with  her  for  company,  and  leaving  the  Prophet 
in  total  darkness.  The  low  whistle  sounded  again, 
and  a  husky  voice  said, — 

"Are  you  there  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Prophet,  summoning  all  his 
courage.  "I  am." 

"What  V  you  put  out  the  light  for  ?"  said  the  voice, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  far  away. 

"I  haven't  put  it  out,"  returned  the  Prophet.  "It's 
gone  away." 

At  this  juncture  Malkiel,  impelled  by  curiosity, 
ceased  from  trembling,  and,  leaning  forward  upon  the 
loving-cup,  glued  his  ear  to  the  key-hole  of  the  cup- 
board. 


3 1 8    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Why  was  you  so  late  to-night?"  proceeded  the 
voice.  "She's  been  in  a  rare  taking,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Who?" 

"Who?     You  know  well  enough." 

"Do  you  mean  my  grandmother?" 

"Your  grandmother!"  ejaculated  the  voice  with 
apparent  sarcasm.  "Ah!  of  course,  what  do  you 
think?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  the  poor  Prophet, 
whose  reason  was  beginning  to  totter  upon  its 
throne. 

"Well,"  proceeded  the  voice,  "she  thought  you'd 
give  it  up." 

"What — my  grandmother  did  ?" 

"Ah,  your  grandmother.  Get  away  with  you !  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

And  the  mysterious  visitant  broke  forth  into  a  peal 
of  rather  mundane  laughter.  After  indulging  in  this 
unseemly  mirth  for  about  a  minute  and  a  half,  the 
personage  resumed, — 

"The  Crab  did  for  her." 

Upon  hearing  the  mystic  word  Madame  crept 
stealthily  a  pace  or  two  nearer  to  the  door,  while  the 
Prophet  exclaimed, — 

"The  dressed  Crab?" 

"Ah,  what  do  you  think?  Not  a  winjk  of  sleep  and 
thought  every  minute  'd  be  'er  next." 

"Good  Heavens!" 

"She  says  she'd  never  go  near  a  crab  again,  not  if 
it's  ever  so." 

"You  are  sure?"  said  the  Prophet,  eagjerly.  "You 
are  positive  she  said  that  ?" 

"I'd  stake  my  Davy,  and  I  wouldn't  do  that  on 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      319 

everything.  There  ain't  a  man  living  as'll  ever  get  her 
to  go  within  fifty  miles  of  a  crab  this  side  of  Judg- 
ment." 

At  this  point  in  the  colloquy  the  curiosity  of  Madame 
overcame  her,  and  she  protruded  her  head  suddenly 
beyond  the  edge  of  the  doorway. 

"Ulloh!"  exclaimed  the  voice.  "Why,  what's  V 
you  got  there?" 

Madame  hastily  withdrew,  and  the  voice  con- 
tinued,— 

"Blessed  if  it  ain't  a  female !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  the  Prophet,  trembling 
with  propriety.  "I — I — there  is  no  female  here !" 

"Yes  there  is!"  cried  the  voice,  with  a  chuckle. 
"There's  a  female  creeping  and  crawling  about  behind 
that  there  door." 

The  Prophet's  sense  of  chivalry  was  now  fully 
aroused. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said  firmly.  "There  are  no 
females  creeping  and — and  crawling  about  in  this — this 
respectable  house." 

"Respectable !"  ejaculated  the  voice,  respectable ! 
I  say  there  is  a  female.  You're  a  nice  one,  you  are! 
'Pon  my  word,  I've  a  good  mind  to  run  you  in  for 
Mormonism,  I  have.  Wherever's  she  got  to?" 

On  the  last  words  a  sudden  blaze  of  light  shot  into 
the  pantry,  and  at  the  same  moment  there  was  the 
sound  of  wheels  rapidly  approaching  in  the  square. 

"Hulloh !"  said  the  voice,  "someone  a-comin'." 

The  light  died  out  as  rapidly  as  it  had  flashed  in, 
the  wheels  drew  close  and  stopped,  and  a  bell  pealed 
forth  in  the  silent  house. 

"Merciful  Heavens!"  cried  the  Prophet,  pressing  his 


320    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

hands  to  his  throbbing  brow.  "Merciful  Heavens! 
who  can  that  be  ?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  bell  pealed  again. 

"Grannie  will  be  disturbed !"  exclaimed  the  Prophet, 
addressing  himself,  passionately  to  the  darkness. 
"Grannie  will  be  killed  by  all  this  uproar." 

The  bell  pealed  again. 

"This  must  cease,"  cried  the  Prophet.  "This  must 
and  shall  cease.  I  will  bring  it  all  to  an  end  once 
and  for  ever !" 

And,  with  sudden  desperate  decision,  he  shut  the 
window,  burst  out  of  the  pantry  and  came  upon 
Madame,  who  was  standing  in  a  somewhat  furtive 
manner  by  the  door  that  opened  into  the  cellars  of  the 
mansion. 

"Mr.  Vivian,"  she  began,  in  a  rather  subdued  voice, 
"that  isn't  a  comet,  that's  a  copper !" 

The  bell  rang  again. 

"D'you  think — d'you  think  that  can  be  my 
husband?"  continued  Madame,  still  seeming  subdued. 
"I  shouldn't  like  him —  Do  you  think  it's  him  ?" 

"What?" 

"That  bell." 

"I  will  very  soon  see,"  replied  the  Prophet,  in  a 
most  determined  manner. 

"But  Mr.  Viv— " 

"Don't  hold  me,  if  you  please.     Kindly  let  me  pass !" 

And,  breaking  from  the  lady's  anxious  grasp,  the 
Prophet  rushed  into  the  hall  just  as  Gustavus  ap- 
peared, descending  the  front  stairs  from  the  landing 
before  Mrs.  Merillia's  door,  where  he  had  been  in  close 
conference  with  Mrs.  Fancy. 

"Stand  back,  Gustavus,"  said  the  Prophet. 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      321 

"Sir!" 

"Stand  back!" 

"But,  sir,  there  is  someone — " 

"I  know  there  is.  I  am  about  to  answer  the  door 
myself." 

"If  you  please,  sir,  Mrs.  Merillia  is  greatly  alarmed 
by  the  constant  ringing,  and  Mrs.  Fancy  thinks — " 

"Gustavus,"  said  the  Prophet  in  an  awful  voice, 
"you  may  retire,  but  first  let  me  tell  you  one  thing." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  footman,  beginning  to 
tremble. 

"The  circumstances  that  have  rendered  a  hitherto 
peaceful  household  more  disordered  than  an  abode  of 
madmen  are  about  to  be  brought  to  an  end  for  ever. 
There  is  a  point  at  which  a  gentleman  must  either  cease 
to  be  a  gentleman  or  cease  to  be  a  man.  I  have  reached 
that  point,  Gustavus,  and  I  am  about  to  cease  to  be  a 
gentleman." 

And,  with  this  terrible  statement,  the  Prophet 
advanced  with  a  sort  of  appalling  deliberation  and 
threw  the  front  door  wide  open. 

Upon  the  doorstep  stood  Lady  Enid  wrapped  in  a 
pink  opera  cloak  and  Sir  Tiglath  Butt  shrouded  in  the 
Inverness.  The  Prophet  faced  them  with  a  marble 
demeanour. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  here,  Mr.  Vivian,"  began  Lady 
Enid  in  a  bright  manner. 

"I  am  here,"  said  the  Prophet,  speaking  in  a  voice 
that  might  well  have  issued  from  a  statue. 

"Where  is  he?"  roared  Sir  Tiglath,  "Where  is  he? 
Oh-h-h-h!" 

"Sir  Tiglath  means  Malkiel,"  explained  Lady  Enid. 
"He  is  most  anxious  to  meet  him," 


322    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Why  ?"  said  the  Prophet,  still  in  the  same  inhuman 
voice. 

"Well,  we  shall  see  when  they  do  meet,"  said  Lady 
Enid,  throwing  a  look  of  keen  curiosity  at  the 
astronomer.  "I  rather  think — "  here  she  lowered  her 
voice  and  whispered  in  the  Prophet's  ear — "I  rather 
think  Sir  Tiglath  wishes  to  try  if  he  can  murder 
Malkiel.  Do  you  believe  he  could  bring  it  off  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  Prophet,  with 
stony  indifference.  "Good-night  to  you !" 

"But  we  want  to  come  in,"  cried  Lady  Enid. 

"Young  man,"  roared  Sir  Tiglath,  "the  old 
astronomer  will  not  leave  this  house  till  he  has 
searched  it  from  attic  to  cellar." 

"I  am  sorry,"  replied  the  Prophet,  "but  I  cannot 
permit  my  grandmother's  servants  or  wine  to  be  dis- 
turbed at  such  an  hour.  If  you  wish  to  murder 
Malkiel  the  Second,  I  shall  not  prevent  you,  but  he  is 
not  here." 

"Then  where  is  he  ?"  cried  Lady  Enid. 

"I  don't  know.     And  now — " 

The  Prophet  stepped  back  into  the  hall,  and  was 
about  to  close  the  door  unceremoniously — having,  as 
he  intended,  ceased  to  be  a  gentleman — when  Lady 
Enid  caught  sight  of  the  round  and  fixed  eyes  of 
Gustavus  glaring  out  into  the  night  from  behind  his 
master.  The  appalling  feminine  instinct,  which  makes 
woman  the  mistress  of  creation,  suddenly  woke  within 
her,  and  she  cried  out  in  a  piercing  voice, — 

"Malkiel's  in  the  house,  and  Gustavus  knows  it !" 

She  spoke  these  words  with  such  conviction  that 
the  Prophet  spun  round,  top-wise,  and  stared  at  the 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business     323 

unfortunate  flunkey,  who  instantly  fell  upon  his  knee- 
breeches  and  stammered  out, — 

"Oh,  sir,  forgive  me!  It's  Dr.  Carter  done  it,  sir, 
it  is  indeed.  It's  Dr.  Carter  done  it !" 

"Dr.  Carter !"  ejaculated  the  Prophet. 

"The  library,  sir.  He  offered  me  the  library  eight 
times  over,  sir!" 

"Who  offered  you  what  library  ?" 

"The  gent,  sir,  in  Mr.  Ferdinand's  trouserings,  what 
was  at  dinner,  sir.  He  only  wanted  to  change  'em, 
sir,  and  he  says  to  me,  he  says,  'Let  me,'  he  says,  'but 
remove  these  trouserings/  he  says,  'before  I  make  off 
to  Java,'  he  says — " 

"To  where  ?"  roared  Sir  Tiglath. 

"To  Java,  sir,  where  the  jelly  and  the  sparrows  is 
manufactured,  sir,  that  is  born,  sir.  'And,'  he  says, 
'here  is  a  hundred  poiinds,'  he  says." 

"Then  he  is  in  the  house  ?"  said  the  Prophet,  sternly. 

"Well,  sir,  he  was,  sir.  And,  as  I  ain't  seen  him 
go,  sir,  I  expect  as  he's  somewhere  about  changing  of 
'em,  sir.  Oh,  sir,  if  you'll  only  look  it  over,  sir.  It's 
all  the  thirst?  sir,  it's  all  the  thirst — " 

"What?  You  have  been  drinking?"  cried  the 
Prophet,  in  an  outraged  manner. 

"No,  sir,  the  thirst  for  knowledge,  sir,  as  has 
brought  me  to  this.  Oh,  sir,  if  only  you'll — " 

"Hush !"  said  the  Prophet,  fiercely.  "Sir  Tiglath," 
he  added,  turning  towards  the  puffing  astronomer, 
"you  can  enter.  My  grandmother  must  have  been 
right." 

"Your  grandmother?"  said  Lady  Enid,  with  eager 
inquisitiveness. 


324    The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"She  informed  me  that  the  ruffian  was  in  the  house 
and  had  attempted  to  make  away  with  her — " 

"Dear  me !  this  is  most  interesting!"  interposed  Lady 
Enid. 

"But  I  suppose  she  had  had  the  nightmare.  It 
seems  that  I  was  wrong.  If  you  will  step  in,  you  can 
search  the  house  at  once.  And  if  you  discover  this 
nameless  creature  changing  his — that  is  Mr.  Ferdi- 
nand's trouserings — trousers,  that  is, — in  any  part  of 
the  building,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  you  can  murder 
him  forthwith." 

The  Prophet  spoke  quite  calmly,  in  a  soft  and  level 
voice.  Yet  there  was  something  so  frightful  in  his 
tone  and  manner  that  even  Sir  Tiglath  seemed  slightly 
awe-stricken.  At  any  rate,  he  accepted  the  Prophet's 
invitation  in  silence,  and  stepped  almost  furtively  into 
the  hall,  on  whose  floor  Gustavus  was  still  posed  in  the 
conventional  attitude  of  the  Christian  martyr.  Lady 
Enid  eagerly  followed,  and  the  Prophet  was  just  about 
to  close  the  door,  when  a  dark,  hovering  figure  that  was 
pausing  at  a  short  distance  off  upon  the  pavement 
attracted  his  attention.  He  stopped  short,  and,  per- 
ceiving that  it  was  a  policeman,  beckoned  to  it.  The 
figure  approached. 

"What's  up  now?"  it  said  familiarly,  emphasising 
the  question  with  a  sharp  contraction  of  the  left  eyelid. 
"You're  having  a  nice  game  to-night,  and  no  mistake." 

"Game!"  replied  the  Prophet,  sternly.  "This  is  no 
game.  Stand  there,  by  the  area  gate,  and  if  anyone 
should  run  out,  knock  him  down  with  your  truncheon. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

With  these  impressive  words  he  entered  the  house 
and  shut  the  door,  leaving  the  policeman  to  whistle 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      325 

inquiringly  to  the  stars  that  were  watching  over  this 
house,  once  peaceful,  but  now  the  abode  of  violence 
and  tragedy. 

In  the  hall  he  found  Gustavus  still  on  his  knees 
between  Lady  Enid  and  Sir  Tiglath. 

"Lady  Enid,"  he  said,  even  in  this  hour  mindful  of 
the  proprieties,  "you  have  heard  what  this  villain  is 
doing  here,  and  must  be  sensible  that  you  can  take  no 
part  in  this  search/' 

"Oh,  but  I  particularly  want — "  began  Lady  Enid, 
hastily. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  Prophet,  with  more  firmness 
than  Napoleon  ever  showed  to  his  marshals.  "You 
must  retire.  Please  come  this  way.  Mrs.  Fancy  will 
look  after  you." 

"Oh,  but  really,  Mr.  Vivian,  I—" 

"Kindly  follow  me." 

Lady  Enid  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the  Prophet's 
manner  was  too  much  for  her,  and  when  he  stepped, 
like  a  clockwork  automaton  with  a  steel  interior, 
towards  the  staircase,  she  crept  mildly  in  his  wake. 

"Can't  I  really — ?"  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Certainly  not.  If  you  were  a  married  woman, 
possibly — " 

"Well,  but  I  am  engaged,"  she  murmured. 

The  Prophet  stopped  short. 

"Engaged !"  he  said.     "To  whom  ?" 

"Sir  Tiglath." 

"Engaged  to  Sir  Tiglath !" 

"Yes.  He  proposed  to  me  to-night  at  Zoological 
House." 

"Why?" 

She  might  well  have  resented  the  question,  but  per- 


326     The   Prophet  of  Berkeley   Square 

haps  she  divined  the  distraught  and  almost  maniacal 
condition  of  mind  that  the  Prophet  masked  beneath 
his  impassive  demeanour.  At  any  rate  she  answered 
frankly, — 

"Because  he  didn't  find  out  I'm  Miss  Minerva,  and 
in  the  midst  of  Mrs.  Bridgeman's  silly  world  I  stood 
right  out  as  the  only  sensible  creature  living.  Isn't 
it  fun?" 

"Fun!" 

"Yes.     I  always  meant  him  to  propose  to  me." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  always  thought  it  would  be  supremely 
idiotic  of  me  to  accept  him." 

The  Prophet  felt  that  if  he  listened  to  another  remark 
of  such  a  nature  his  brain  would  snap  and  he  would 
instantly  be  taken  with  a  tearing  fit  of  hysterics.  He 
therefore  turned  round  and  slowly  ascended  to  the  first 
floor. 

"Kindly  step  into  the  drawing-room,"  he  said, 
having  first,  by  a  rapid  glance,  assured  himself  that 
Malkiel  was  not  changing  Mr.  Ferdinand's  trousers 
there.  "I  will  send  Mrs.  Fancy  to  chaperon  you." 

Lady  Enid  stepped  in  obediently,  and  the  Prophet, 
who  could  distinctly  hear  Mrs.  Fancy  sobbing  on  the 
landing  above,  proceeded  thither,  took  her  hand  and 
guided  her  down  to  the  drawing-room. 

"Oh,  my  poor,  poor  missis!"  gulped  the  devoted 
creature.  "Oh,  my — " 

"Precisely,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  with  passionless 
equanimity.  "Please  go  in  here  and  remain  to  guard 
this  young  lady." 

He  assisted  Mrs.  Fancy  to  fall  in  a  heap  upon  the 
nearest  sociable,  and  then,  still  moving  with  a  species 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business 

of  frozen  deliberation,  betook  himself  once  more  to  the 
hall.  The  astronomer  and  Gustavtis  were  standing 
there  in  silence. 

"Sir  Tiglath,"  said  the  Prophet,  in  a  very  formal 
manner,  "you  can  now  begin  to  search  for  this  ruffian." 

Sir  Tiglath  cleared  his  throat,  and  continued  to 
stand  still. 

"I  hope  you  will  find  him,"  continued  the  Prophet. 

Sir  Tiglath  cleared  his  throat  again  and  added, — 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Because  I  think  it  quite  time  that  he  was 
murdered,"  answered  the  Prophet,  unemotionally. 
"Well !  why  don't  you  search?" 

The  astronomer,  whose  face  began  to  look  less  red 
than  usual,  rolled  his  glassy  eyes  round  upon  the 
shadowy  hall,  the  dim  staircase  and  the  gloomy-looking 
closed  doors  that  confronted  them. 

"Where  is  the  old  astronomer  to  search?"  he  asked, 
in  a  low  voice.  "Oh-h-h-h !" 

The  final  exclamation  sounded  remarkably  tremulous. 

"Anywhere — except  in  my  grandmother's  bedroom. 
That  of  couse  is  sacred.  Well,  why  don't  you  begin?" 

Sir  Tiglath  eyed  the  Prophet  furtively. 

"I'm — I'm  going  to,"  he  murmured  hoarsely.  The 
old  astronomer  does  not  know  the  meaning  of  the 
word — fear." 

Exactly  as  he  uttered  these  inspiring  words  the  hall 
clock  growled,  like  a  very  large  dog,  and  struck  two. 
Sir  Tiglath  started  and  caught  hold  of  Gustavtis,  who 
started  in  his  turn  and  shrank  away.  The  Prophet 
alone  stood  up  to  the  clock,  which  finished  its  remark 
with  a  click,  and  resumed  its  habitual  occupation  of 
ticking. 


328     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

"Pray  begin,  Sir  Tiglath,"  said  the  Prophet. 

"The  old  astronomer — must  have  a — a — a — candle." 

"Here  is  one,"  said  the  Prophet,  handing  the  desired 
article. 

"A  lighted  candle." 

"Why  lighted?  Oh,  so  that  you  can  see  to  murder 
him  !  Gtistavus,  light  the  candle." 

Gustavus,  who  was  trembling  a  good  deal  more  than 
an  autumn  leaf,  complied  after  about  fifteen  unavailing 
attempts. 

"There,  Sir  Tiglath,"  said  the  Prophet.  "Now  you 
can  begin."  And  he  seated  himself  upon  a  settle, 
leaned  back  and  crossed  his  legs. 

"You  will  not  accompany  the  old  astronomer?" 
Oh-h-h !" 

"No.  I  will  rest  here.  When  you  have  found  the 
ruffian  and  murdered  him,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  your 
news." 

And,  so  saying,  the  Prophet  settled  himself  com- 
fortably with  a  cushion  behind  his  back,  and  calmly 
closed  his  eyes.  The  candlestick  clattered  in  Sir 
Tiglath's  gouty  hand.  The  Prophet  heard  it,  heard 
heavy  feet  shuffling  very  slowly  and  cautiously  over 
the  floor  of  the  hall,  finally  heard  the  door  leading  to 
the  servants'  quarters  swing  on  its  hinges.  Still  he 
did  not  open  his  eyes.  He  felt  that  if  he  were  to  do  so 
just  then  he  would  probably  begin  to  shriek,  rave,  foam 
at  the  mouth,  and  in  all  known  ways  comport  himself 
as  do  the  inhabitants  of  Bedlam.  A  delicate  silence 
fell  in  the  hall.  How  long  it  lasted  the  Prophet  never 
knew.  It  might  have  been  five  minutes  or  five  years 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  It  was  broken  at  length  by 
the  following  symphony  of  sounds — an  elderly  man's 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      329 

voice  roaring,  a  woman's  voice  uttering  a  considerable 
number  of  very  powerful  screams  on  a  rather  low  but 
still  resounding  note,  a  loud  thump,  a  crash  of  glass, 
a  prodigious  clattering,  as  of  utensils  made  in  some 
noisy  material  falling  from  a  height  and  rolling 
vigorously  in  innumerable  directions,  two  or  three 
bangs  of  doors,  and  the  peculiar  patter  of  rather  large 
and  flat  feet,  unaccustomed  to  any  rapid  exercise, 
moving  over  boards,  oilcloth  and  carpet.  Then  the 
swing  door  sang,  and  the  Prophet,  opening  his  eyes, 
perceived  Madame  Malkiel  moving  forward  with  con- 
siderable vivacity,  and  screaming  as  she  moved,  her 
bonnet  depending  down  her  back  and  the  rabbit-skins 
flowing  from  her  ample  shoulders.  Immediately 
behind  her  ran  her  spouse,  holding  in  one  hand  a 
silver  pepper  castor,  and  in  the  other  a  small  and 
very  beautifully  finished  bronze  teapot  of  the  William 
of  Orange  period.  The  worthy  couple  fleeted  by,  and 
the  Prophet  turned  his  expressionless  eyes  towards 
the  swing  door  expecting  immediately  to  perceive  Sir 
Tiglath  Butt  in  valiant  pursuit.  As  no  such,  figure 
presented  itself,  and  as  the  Malkiels  were  now  begin- 
ning to  mount  the  stairs  with  continually  increasing 
velocity,  the  Prophet  slowly  uncrossed  his  legs,  and 
was  thinking  of  getting  upon  his  feet  when  there  came 
a  loud  knock  upon  the  hall  door. 

"Gustavus !"  said  the  Prophet,  glancing  round. 

He  perceived  the  footman  lying  in  a  dead  faint  near 
the  umbrella  stand. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  speaking  to  himself  aloud.  "Oh! 
Then  I  must  go  myself." 

Acting  upon  his  conception  of  his  duty,  he  accord- 
ingly walked  to  the  front  door,  opened  it,  and  found  the 


330     The   Prophet   of  Berkeley   Square 

policeman  outside  supporting  the  senseless  form  of 
Sir  Tiglath  Butt  in  one  hand  and  holding  a  broken 
truncheon  in  the  other. 

"Well?"  said  the  Prophet,  calmly.     "Well?" 

"I  knocked  him  down  as  he  was  making  a  bolt,"  said 
the  policeman. 

The  Prophet  found  himself  wondering  why  so  in- 
dustrious and  even  useful  an  occupation  should  be 
interfered  with  in  such  a  manner.  However,  he  only 
replied, — 

"Indeed !" 

"Ah,"  said  the  policeman,  stepping  into  the  hall  and 
laying  the  astronomer  out  across  a  chair,  "what's  up  ?" 

"They  are  both  up,"  answered  the  Prophet,  pointing 
with  a  lethargic  finger  towards  the  staircase,  from 
which,  at  this  moment,  arose  a  perfect  hubbub  of 
voices. 

"Come  on !"  cried  the  policeman. 

"Why?"  asked  the  Prophet. 

"Why !  you're  a  nice  un,  you  are !  Why !  And  nab 
'em,  of  course !' 

"You  think  it  would  be  wise  to — what  was  the 
word — nab  them  ?"  inquired  the  Prophet.  "You  really 
think  so?" 

"Well,  what  am  I  here  for  then  ?"  said  the  policeman, 
with  angry  irony. 

"Oh,  if  you  prefer,"  rejoined  the  Prophet,  civilly. 
"Nab  them  by  all  means.  I  shall  not  prevent  you." 

The  policeman,  who  was  an  active  and  industrious 
fellow  deserving  of  praise,  waited  for  no  further  per- 
mission, but  immediately  darted  up  the  stairs,  and 
in  less  than  a  minute  returned  with  Mrs.  Merillia — 
attired  in  a  black  silk  gown,  a  bonnet,  and  an  Indian 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      331 

shawl  presented  to  her  on  her  marriage  by  a  very  great 
personage — in  close  custody. 

"Here's  one  on  'em !"  he  shouted.  "Here,  you  lay 
hold  of  her  while  I  fetch  the  rest !" 

And  with  these  words  he  thrust  the  Prophet's 
grandmother  into  one  of  his  hands,  the  broken 
truncheon  into  the  other,  and,  turning  smartly  round, 
again  bounded  up  the  stairs. 

In  a  famous  poem  of  the  late  Lord  Tennyson  there 
is  related  a  dramatic  incident  of  a  lady  whose  disin- 
clination to  cry,  when  such  emotion  would  have  been 
only  natural,  was  overcome  by  the  presentation  to  her 
of  her  child.  A  somewhat  similar  effect  was  pro- 
duced upon  our  Prophet  by  the  constable's  presentation 
to  him  of  his  honoured  grandmother.  The  sight  of 
her  reverent  head,  surmounted  by  the  bonnet  which 
she  had  assumed  in  readiness  to  flee  from  the  house 
which  she  could  no  longer  regard  as  a  home — the 
touch  of  her  delicate  hand — the  flutter  of  her  so 
hallowed  Indian  shawl — these  things  broke  down  the 
strange  calm  of  her  devoted  grandson.  Like  summer 
tempest  came  his  emotion,  and,  when  the  policeman 
presently  returned  with  Malkiel  the  Second  and 
Madame  nabbed  by  his  right  and  left  hands,  and 
followed  by  Lady  Enid  and  the  weeping  Mrs.  Fancy, 
he  was  confronted  by  a  most  pathetic  tableau.  The 
Prophet  and  Mrs.  Merillia  were  weeping  in  each 
other's  arms,  while  Sir  Tiglath  and  Gustavus — just 
returned  to  consciousness — were  engaged  in  examining 
the  proceeding  with  puppy  dog's  eyes. 

Over  the  explanations  that  ensued  a  veil  may  be 
partially  drawn.  One  lifted  corner,  however,  allows 
us  to  note  that  Sir  Tiglath  Butt,  having  come  upon 


332     The  Prophet  of  Berkeley  Square 

Madame  hidden  behind  a  bin  of  old  port  in  the 
Prophet's  cellar,  had  been  seized  by  a  desire  not  to 
alarm  a  lady  so  profound  that  it  prompted  him  to 
hurry  to  the  butler's  pantry,  and  to  seek  concealment 
in  the  very  cupboard  which  already  contained  Malkiel 
the  Second.  On  perceiving  that  gentleman  perched 
upon  the  loving-cup,  and  protected  by  candlesticks, 
sugar  basins,  teapots  and  other  weapons,  the  astrono- 
mer's anxiety  to  become  a  murderer  apparently  for- 
sook him.  At  any  rate,  he  passed  through  the  plate-glass 
of  the  window  rather  hastily  into  the  area,  where,  as 
we  know,  he  received  the  solicitous  attentions  of  the 
policeman  who  had  served  as  an  intermediary  between 
the  Lord  Chancellor's  second  cook — whose  supper  of 
dressed  crab  had  caused  so  much  confusion — and  the 
supposed  Mr.  Ferdinand.  Malkiel  the  Second,  finding 
himself  discovered,  took  to  the  open  just  as  Madame 
fled  forth  from  the  cellar,  to  be  overtaken  by  the  very 
natural  misconception  that  she  was  about  to  become 
the  victim  of  a  husband  whose  jealousy  had  at  length 
caused  him  to  assume  his  toga  virilibus. 

Perhaps  it  was  Sir  Tiglath's  throwing  off  of  the  said 
garment  which  caused  Lady  Enid  to  throw  him  over. 
At  any  rate,  she  eventually  married  Mr.  Robert  Green 
and  made  him  a  very  sensible  wife. 

The  Malkiels  returned  to  the  Mouse,  where  they  still 
live,  and  still  carry  on  a  certain  amount  of  intercourse 
with  architects  and  their  wives.  From  time  to  time, 
however,  they  attend  the  receptions  at  Zoological 
House,  and  a  rumour  recently  ran  through  the  circles 
of  the  silly  to  the  effect  that  they  had  been  seen  looking 
at  a  house  not  far  from  the  Earls  Court  Station,  with 


The  Prophet  Retires  from  Business      333 

a  view — it  is  surmised — of  removing  to  more  central 
districts. 

They  are  no  longer  on  terms  with  the  Prophet. 

He  has  retired  from  business  and  put  down  his 
telescope  once  and  for  all,  recognising  that  prophecy  is 
a  dangerous  employment,  and  one  likely  to  bring  about 
the  very  evils  it  foreshadows.  Camly  he  dwells  with  his 
beloved  grandmother  in  the  Berkeley  Square,  which  has 
received  them  once  more  into  its  former  favour.  Some- 
times, at  night,  when  the  sky  is  clear,  and  the  bright 
stars,  the  guardian  stars,  keep  watch  over  his  aristo- 
cratic neighbourhood,  he  draws  aside  the  curtain  from 
the  drawing-room  window  and  glances  forth  at 
Mercury  and  Uranus,  Jupiter,  Saturn  and  Venus. 
And  when  his  eyes  meet  their  twinkling  eyes,  he 
exchanges  with  them — not  a  question  and  answer,  not 
a  demand  for  unholy  information  and  a  reluctant  reply, 
but  a  serene,  gentlemanly  and  perfectly  decorous 
good-night. 

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train,  I  should  like  a  half-dozen  books  as  gladsome  as 
"Checkers"  and  I  could  laugh  at  the  trip. — N.  T.  Com- 
mercial Advertiser.  , 

"Checkers"  himself  is  as  distinct  a  creation  as  Chim- 
mie  Fadden  and  his  racy  slang  expresses  a  livelier  wit. 
The  racing  part  is  clever  reporting  and  as  horsey  and 
"up-to-date"  as  any  one  could  ask.  The  slang  of  the 
race-course  is  caught  with  skill  and  is  vivid  and  pictur- 
esque, and  students  of  the  byways  of  language  may  find 
•ome  new  gems  of  colloquial  speach  to  add  to  their  lexi- 
cons.— Springfield  Republican. 


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BREWSTER/S    MILLIONS 

•sr»  BY 

GEORGE    BARR    McCUTCHEON 


hero  is  a  young  New  Yorker  of  good  parts  who, 
jo  save  an  inheritance  of  seven  millions,  starts  out  to 
spend  a  fortune  of  one  million  within  a  year.  An  eccen- 
tric uncle,  ignorant  of  the  earlier  legacy,  leaves  him 
seven  millions  to  be  delivered  at  the  expiration  of  a  year, 
on  the  condition  that  at  that  time  he  is  penniless,  and 
has  proven  himself  a  capable  business  man,  able  to 
manage  his  own  affairs.  The  problem  that  confronts 
Brewster  is  to  spend  his  legacy  without  proving  himself 
either  reckless  or  dissipated.  He  has  ideas  about  the  dig- 
position  of  the  seven  millions  which  are  not  those  of  the 
uncle  when  he  tried  to  supply  an  alternative  in  case  the 
nephew  failed  him.  His  adventures  in  pursuit  of  poverty 
are  decidedly  of  an  unusual  kind,  and  his  disappoint- 
ments are  funny  in  quite  a  new  way.  The  situation  is 
developed  with  an  immense  amount  of  humor. 


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CASTLE  CRANEYCROW.       THE  SHERRODS. 

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accurate  notes,  a  biography  of  both  Omar  and  Fitzger- 
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with  a  remarkable  descriptive  and  comparative  article  by 
Edward  S.  Holden.  Beautifully  printed  in  two  colors  on 
deckel  edge  paper,  with  decorative  borders,  fourteen 
half-tone  illustrations  by  Gilbert  James,  and  a  portrait  of 
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THE  SAME,  in  booklet  form,  24  pages,  printed  in  two 
colors,  the  complete  text  of  the  fourth  edition.  PRICE,  1 50 

KIPLING'S  POEMS,  BARRACK  ROOM 
BALLADS,  DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES,  ETC. 

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The  Pleasures  of  Literature 
and  the  Solace  of  Books 

COMPILED   BY  JOSEPH   SHALER    WITH 
AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  ANDREW  LANG 

A  volame  that  will  appeal  to  every  book  lover,  pre- 
senting, as  it  does,  in  chaste  and  elegant  style,  the 
»houghts  of  great  men  of  all  ages  on  books  and  the  read- 
ing thereof.  ' 

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the  best  silk  finished  cloth,  with  frontispiece  and  rubricated 
title  page.  Elaborate  cover  design  in  gold.  Price,  -fif.oo 

Mrs.  Jerningham's  Journal 
John  Jerningham's  Journal 

The  re-publication  of  this  exquisite  love  story  in  verse 
is  an  event  that  will  be  heartily  welcomed  by  those  who 
can  appreciate  beauty  of  sentiment  when  presented  in 
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THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT 

"  Breathless  interest  is  a  hackneyed  phrase,  but  every 
reader  of  '  The  Pillar  of  Light '  who  has  red  blood  in 
his  or  her  veins,  will  agree  that  the  trite  saying  applies  to 
the  attention  which  this  story  commands. — New  Tor k  Sun. 

THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 

"  Here  is  a  story  filled  with  the  swing  of  adventure. 
There  are  no  dragging  intervals  in  this  volume  :  from  the 
moment  of  their  landing  on  the  island  until  the  rescuing 
crew  find  them  there,  there  is  not  a  dull  moment  for  the 
young  people — nor  for  the  reader  either." — New  York 
Times. 

THE  KING  OF  DIAMONDS 

"  Verily,  Mr.  Tracy  is  a  prince  of  story-tellers.  His 
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The  QUEST   of  HAPPINESS 

A  Study  of  the  Victory  over  Life's  Troubles.  By  NEW- 
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tional Church,  Brooklyn.  Cloth,  Decorated  Border, 
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serene  satisfaction  with  God's  method  of  moral  govern- 
ment breathes  from  every  page  and  makes  the  teacher 
trustworthy. — CHARLES  FREDERICK  Goss. 

««  The  Quest  of  Happiness  "  is  Dr.  Hillis'  very  best 
book.  It  is  strong,  vivid,  clear,  and  has  a  certain  indefin- 
able human  quality  which  will  be  sure  to  give  it  a  large 
circulation  and  make  it  a  source  of  great  helpfulness. 
— AMORY  H.  BRADFORD,  Pastor  of  the  First  Congrega- 
tional Church,  Montclair,  N.  J. 

I  find  "The  Quest  of  Happiness"  a  very  rich  and 
fceautiful  work.  It  is  eminently  a  book  for  the  home. — 
PHILIP  S.  MOXON,  Pastor  of  South  Congregational 
Church,  Springfield,  Mass. 

HAPPINESS 

Essays   on   the    Meaning  of  Life.     By  CARL  HILTY. 
Translated  by  Francis   Greenwood  Peabody,   Pro- 
fessor  of  Christian    Morals,    Harvard  University, 
Cambridge,      izmo,  cloth,  75  cents,  postpaid. 
Great  numbers  of  thoughtful  people  are  just  now  much 
perplexed  to  know  what  to  make  of  the  facts  of  life,  and 
are  looking  around  them  for  some  reasonable  interpreta- 
tion of  the  modern  world.     To  this  state  of  mind  the 
reflections  of  Prof.  Hilty  have  already  brought  much  reas- 
turance  and  composure. 

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WORKS  OF 

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VIA  CRUCIS  :  A   Romance  of  the  Second  Crusade. 

Illustrated  by  Louis  Loeb. 

Mr.  Crawford  has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities 
on  a  student  of  history,  and  his  finest  resources  as  a  master 
•fan  original  and  picturesque  style,  to  bear  upon  this  story. 

MR.  ISAACS  :  A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

Under  an  unpretentious  title  we  have  here  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  novels  that  has  been  given  to  the  world. 

THE  HEART  OF  ROME. 

The  legend  of  a  buried  treasure  under  the  walls  of  the 
palace  of  Conti,  known  to  but  few,  provides  the  frame- 
work for  many  exciting  incidents. 

SARACINESCA 

A  graphic  picture  of  Roman  society  in  the  last  days  of 
the  Pope's  temporal  power. 

SANT'  ILARIO  ;  A  Sequel  to  Saracinesca. 

A  singularly  powerful  and  beautiful  story,  fulfilling  every 
requirement  of  artistic  fiction. 

IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING  :  A  Love  Story 

of  Old  Madrid.     Illustrated. 

The  imaginative  richness,  the  marvellous  ingenuity  of 
plot,  and  the  charm  of  romantic  environment,  rank  this 
novel  among  the  great  creations. 

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BOOKS    ON   ART 

POPULAR,  AUTHORITATIVE,  INEXPENSIVE 

RENAISSANCE  AND  MODERN  ART.  By  W. 
H.  GOODYEAR,  M.A.,  Curator  of  Fine  Arts  in  the 
Museum  of  the  Brooklyn  Institute.  Profusely  illus- 
trated. I  zmo,  cloth. 

This  volume  aims  to  present  in  a  popular  and  non- 
technical form  a  history  of  the  various  periods  of  art  from 
the  time  of  the  Renaissance  to  the  present  day.  Two 
hundred  and  three  reproductions  of  paintings  and  sculp- 
ture add  to  the  interest  of  the  work. 

ROMAN   AND   MEDIEVAL  ART.     By  W.  H. 
GOODYEAR,  M.A.     New  edition,  revised  and  en- 
larged.     Profusely  illustrated.      I  zmo,  cloth. 
The  epochs  treated  in  this  work,  those  of  the  Romans 
and  of  the  Middle  Ages,  make  this  work  not  so  much  a 
history  of  the  arts  as  a  history  of  the  civilization  of  the 
period.      One  hundred  and  ninety-six  reproductions  illus- 
trate the  text. 

A  HISTORY  OF  GREEK  ART.  With  an  Intro- 
ductory Chapter  on  Art  in  Egypt  and  Mesopotamia. 

,  By  PROF.  T.  B.  TARBELL,  of  the  University  of 
Chicago.  Profusely  illustrated,  I  zmo,  cloth. 

This  book  has  been  written  in  the  conviction  that  the 
greatest  of  all  motives  for  studying  art,  the  motive  which 
is  and  ought  to  be  the  strongest  in  most  people,  is  the 
desire  to  become  acquainted  with  beautiful  and  noble 
things,  the  things  that  "  soothe  the  cares  and  lift  the 
thoughts  of  man.'*  Illustrated  with  one  hundred  and 
ninety-six  reproductions. 

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PARABLES   OF  LIFE 

Poetic  in  conception,  vivid  and  true  in  imagery,  del% 
cately  clear  and  pure  in  diction,  these  little  pieces   belong 
to  Mr.  Mabie' s  finest  and  strongest  work. — HENRY  VAN 
DYKE. 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Poet,  Dramatist,  Man 

Professor  F.  H.  Stoddard  speaks  ot  this  work  at 
"  almost  unique  in  Shakespeare  literature,  in  it  that  is  a 
continuous  and  thoroughly  worked  out  study  of  the  whole 
personality  of  Shakespeare." 

A  BOOK  OF  OLD  ENGLISH  LOVE  SONGS 

Edited  by  Hamilton  Mabie.  Superbly  illustrated  with 
Drawings  and  Decorations  by  George  Wharton  Edwards. 

One  of  the  daintiest  specimens  of  bookmaking,  designed  to  serve 
both  as  a  gift  book  and  work  of  reference. 

A  BOOK  OF  OLD  ENGLISH  BALLADS 

Edited  by  Hamilton  Mabie.  Superbly  illustrated  with 
Drawings  and  Decorations  by  George  Wharton  Edwards. 

"The  aim  has  been  to  bring,  within  moderate  compass,  a  collec- 
tion of  the  songs  of  the  people. — Extract  from  Introduction. 

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